II 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



— - x 

i 



014 107 750 8 



PeRimirpe® 




WOODSTOCK STORIES 



POEMS AND ESSAYS 




A BOOK OF THE CATSKILLS 
FOR THE PEOPLE 



8X.: 



WILLIAM BENIGNUS 






.C3B46 



We Artists and Writers 



We are human, we are humans on this 
Earthstar. If our thoughts soar in ex- 
ploration to regions unknown and are 
of no importance to indifferent martmen, 
we nevertheless must build our creations 
on firm ground. We shall not sell our 
souls to a public who wants ragtime and 
horseplay. 

An artist can not be great until, by 
striving and battling in spirit, he has 
found himself, has gained knowledge of 
his own soul and won control. Then 
only his inner world can become God's 
world and the outer world no more dom- 
inates him. If he is victorious in these 
strifes and battles with his own self, 
then no more the evil, disturbing, harass- 
ing influences, assailing from without, 
can shake his faith or throw him off 
the balance. He reaches a clarity entire, 
a tranquility and cheerfulness which al- 
ready on this earth are a taste of life 
in heaven. Then he is enabled to pro- 
duce works of art of lasting value to 



men, works which have the quality 
to enrich and strengthen the life of the 
soul and help to lift us to regions of 
imperishable beauty and purest joys 
without compare. 

True art is a necessity to the world, 
it is spiritual food. Art is a manifesta- 
tion of the Spirit. Many of us, who 
devote our life to Art, and bring sacri- 
fices, must suffer for ideals and walk 
roughest roads. Real works of art can 
only be produced by selfdependent souls 
to whom Truth and Beauty are dearer 
than the applause of the mob, the clink 
of coin and the seductive rustling of 
new dollarbills. 

With regard to my book I say: "I 
wrote it for the sake and love of it. 
My objects are Nature and Art and, of 
course, Humans, for they belong into 
these two categories. 

William Benignus 



Cubists and Futurists 



At first sight the art of the Cubists 
and Futurists, especially in paintings 
and sculptures, astonishes, is striking 
and, as something new and unusual, 
may awaken in the beholder a certain 
interest. At closer study it does not 
satisfy, is repulsive to the finer feelings 
of advanced souls, leaves you empty or 
makes you inclined to pull out the 
impressions left like disfiguring and 
strangling weeds in your minds orderly 
garden. 

This art, — if you can call it art — , 
does not soar higher than the surface 
and shows only disturbance. It does 
not dive deep, is superficial, a color 
scheme, a carricaturing of truth and of 
natural forms. It is an easy way of 
expression of disorderly and diseased 
minds, proclaiming incapability. Beauty, 
in the highest sense, is absent from its' 



creations. This art is mainly commer- 
cial. Cubists, Futurists and their ad- 
herents are on the whole people with 
undeveloped souls gone astray by dulled 
senses. The atmosphere to their liking 
is that of poisonous cigarettes, narcotic 
drugs, whiskey and absynth. They are 
materialists, no doubt, and hardly take 
heed to the terse, philosophical saying 
of R. L. S.: "The true materialism is 
to be ashamed of what we are." 

Modern real Art is something different. 
It is very progressive in the right di- 
rection. It seeks new ways and finds 
new ways of expression and is able to 
produce creations of perfect beauty which 
can stand rightfully side by side with 
the works of our unsurpassed masters 
of centuries ago and up to our time. 

William Benignus. 



-5 IS2I 



C1A609732 



Woodstock Stories, Poems and Essays 



WILLIAM 



By 
B E N I G N U S 



Copyright, Washington, D. C, 1921, by William Benignus 
All Rights Reserved 



Motto : 
"Let us be cheerful and understanding in heart, kind and true in 
soul, aspiring in spirit, strong in good will and purpose." 



Table of Contents 

Motto - - » 1 

Foreword and Dedication - - - 2 

Seven Illustrations, p. p. 3, 17, 20, 23, 28, 33 

Woodstock Stories 



Woodstock, an Artists' Colony No. 1 4 

If you mail your letters or parcels 8 

The Village Smith of Bearsville No. 2 8 

The Woodstock War. No. 3 10 

The Catskill Mountains .-. 11 

A visit to Alfeo Faggi. No. U 12 

Torajiro Wanotabe 15 

The Overlook Mountains. No. 5 16 

Rohland's Oak. No. 6 18 



Bocks Eiche— Buck's Oak 20 

A great White Ash 21 

A Trip around the Reservoir. No. 7 28 

The Reservoir and the Acqueduct 31 

New York State _ _ 32 

Two Fairy Tales for Kuku _ 32 

Kuku and the Waterbabies. No. 8 32 

The Man who holds the Mountains 

on his Arm. No. 9 _ 33 



Poems 



Son a of the Errand Knight 26 

Schlaf wohl, mein Briiderlein _ 26 



Ein Adler schwebt 

O du glanzendes Licht! 

Stormswept Forest 

Baby William Hunt 

Baby Ellen 

Lulaby 



27 
27 
27 
85 
35 
36 



Gems - - 2 

Arkansaw Traveler, Witchgrass 3 

The little Moongoldgirl 8 

Awakening in May 9 

The Old Man of the Mountain 15 

When "Old Overlook" smokes 15 

Fairy Queen Elsa's Song 16 

Time flies 22 

The Bald Eagle 22 

Good to hear. Notice 22 

By two Oceans guarded 23 

An Eagle soars 24 

Camping in the Mountainwoods 24 

Westwindclouds and Sunrays 24 

White Mists joining Grey Clouds 24 

The Mountainlake -... 25 

Letter from Senator J. I. France 25 

The Fairy of the Tigerlilies 26 

Essays 

We Artists and Writers Cover II By own experience only 

Cubists and Futurists Cover II Prayer — 

Not Selfinterest, but Sacrifice 4 America as I wish it to be 

Be glad! - 21 To my Readers. Opinions Cover III 

N. I. B. 



Stargemmed Night - 36 

Far - 36 

The girl with the nutbrown hair - 37 

The Creator - 37 

Meteors and Suns 37 

Statue of Liberty - 37 

Miss American Liberty _ _ 37 



God's Country, America - 

Hoiho, we sail — — 



38 

40 



27 

27 
30 



In manuscript ready, but not given in the book, are the Stories "The great Belted 
Kingfisher", "The Yellowjackets and their Destroyer"; the Poems "When in Spring 
warm breezes are blowing", "The Fairy Queen", "Her heart apine", "Im Gedenken"— 
"Schon lange her. 1898", "Der Regentropfen und das Meer"; the Essays "What war 
and politics mean", "Make them quit", "Mountains and Sea", "The Soul is like a 
Mountainbrook", "At the Crossroad", "Artists and Nature", "The World of Thought 
our Real World", "Sayings of Odin". 



£ 2 St 



Woodstock Stories. Poems and Essays 




Foreword and Dedication 



Quite some years ago, — if I remember 
right, it was in 1905 — , I wandered on 
foot in late summer 100 miles thru the 
western Catskills, from Ellenville, Ulster 
Co., N. Y., where I picked huckleberries 
on Shawangunk Mountain, to Oneonda 
and up to Cooperstown and Fly Creek, 
Otsego Co., N. Y., where I picked hops 
for Sheldon H. Elderkin and others. 
I never forget that journey, the blueing 
mountains, the whispering forests, the 
singing brooks. The most wonderful 
part was my walk thru romantic "Frost 
Valley". I met good, plain, honest 
people all along. That journey I put in 
words, but the Ms. became lost. I suc- 
ceeded later on, thru the kindness of 
Col. Henry W. Shoemaker, to publish my 
"Shawangunk Mountain Stories" and my 
"Stories of the Catskills". They are on 
file in the New York Public Library, 42d 
Street and 5th Ave., if anybody cares 
to read them. The latter book I might 
better have called "A Nook in a Catskill 
Valley". But it was in my mind to 
continue my explorations of the Catskill 
regions, and so I let the first title stand. 



My "Woodstock Stories" are a contin- 
uation of my "Stories of the Catskills". 
All of my Woodstock Stories were written 
there, but in most of them is the atmo- 
sphere of the Catskills, are the heart 
and soul of the clear mountainbrooks, 
of the green mountainforests, of wander- 
clouds sailing on the blue sky, of star- 
gemmed nights and of glorious days 
full of buoyant life and sunlight. The 
title of the book covers this, and the 
book itself gives you a peep into the 
Catskill Wonderland of marvels, mys- 
teries and secrets. 

I wrote the book as well for my own 
enjoyment as for the enjoyment of all 
readers who take interest in Nature 
and Art. 

I wrote it, before all, for readers who 
know the Catskills and love them and 
whose feelings, convictions and ideas 
about the enchanted regions, which I 
describe, I tried to give utterance in 
plain words. 

William Benignus 
New York City, November 1920. 



To the Readers who love the Catskills 
mv book is dedicated. 



Gems 



Gems, that sparkle fair and strong, 
poets only have in song, 
but, like heaven's stars so bright, 
many-rayed they stream their light, 
chase the darkness, cheer the heart, 
gems they are of rarest art. 




From photo, copyright by Louis E. Jones, by permission. 



Mountain Pastures, Woodstock, Ulster Co., N. Y. 

In the background rises the eastern part of the Overlook Range. The mountain 
farthest to the right is Overlook, the mountain in the centre is The Sentinel or 
Horsehead, to the left is The Saddlebow. In the middleground nestles in the valley 
of the Saivkill and Tannery Brook the village of Woodstock. Behind the big trees 
near the centre is visible the white spire of the Dutch Reformed Church. 



The Arkansaw Traveler 



A Fairy Ditty. — By William Benignus 
Fast on the winds ride the tumbleweeds, 
jolly in company traveling. 
"Why so fleet on the winds, little weeds?" 
"Just because we like traveling." 
"Hoiho, where do you put up tonight?" 
"Where the winds put up! Where the winds put up!" 



<£ 4 J* 



Not Selfinterest, but Sacrifice 



In stepping before the public an 
artist must be ready for judgments of 
his work. The beginner is apt to retort. 
To a master it matters not; knowing 
the values he created he is able to con- 
front criticism by friend or foe with 
equal fortitude. 

If an artist brings before the world 
the child of his heart, — be it book, com- 
position, painting, sculpture, architec- 
tural or engineering work — , he often 
hears this remark: You do it in self- 
interest. I say: Every worker is worth 
his wage. But this does by no means 
cover the case. To a real artist fame 
and the money question are of secondary 
consideration. He works, because he 
follows the call of the inner voice, con- 
sciously, not unconsciously, — the Con- 



scious having its origin in the Uncon- 
scious. Take, as a shining example, the 
greatest master of music, Beethoven. I 
am sure that he knew for which pur- 
pose he worked and why he created his 
masterpieces. He was impelled by the 
Spirit. He consciously followed the call 
of his inner voice and worked and toiled, 
forgetting, while he toiled, his uncon- 
genial surroundings and all hindrances, 
his poverty, his privations, his bodily 
sufferings, himself even, eliminating not 
his personality, but his earthly I, and 
merging his soul and spirit into the 
great Allconscious, the Soul of all Souls, 
the Spirit of all Spirits, the Light of 
all Lights, the Life of all Lives, in which 
we breathe, move and are immortal. 

Wilhelm Benignus. 



Woodstock, Ulster County, New York, 
an Artists' Colony 



Woodstock Story No. 1 
By William Benignus 



In the morning of October the 8th, 
1920, a beautiful autumn day, I was 
standing in front of the Woodstock Post 
Office, waiting for the mail, when a 
voice from the street hailed me: "Halloo, 
Benignus! How are you?" That was 
Mr. Henry Weil, a New York journalist. 
"You are the first acquaintance I met 
here," he said. "And the first thing I 
found here were some of your songs 
laying on a table in the "Irving ton. 
Hotel". "Strange," I said, "but I am 
glad to meet you here. How do you 
like Woodstock?" "The place is just 
wonderful," replied Mr. Weil, "I am 
here for the first time and came this 
morning from Kingston, where just by 
a whim I took the stage for Woodstock." 
"How long are you going to stay?" I 
asked. "I have to go back with the 
next stage to Kingston," said Mr. Weil, 
"but I return in a week or so to visit 
Mr. Vente on his farm near Stony Hol- 
low. This gives me a chance to come 
up here and take a better look around. 
For the country here is just beautiful." 
And Mr. Weil is right. Like him so> 



thinks, I believe, every visitor, and one 
or the other buys a lot and a house and 
settles down as a Woodstocker. 

Go where you will in the neighborhood, 
north, west, east, south, to Birdcliff or 
to Bearsville, to Saugerties or to Mon- 
tana, you find plentifully spots where 
enticing vistas and panoramas of the 
Catskill Country can prominently be 
seen. Woodstock itself, the village, is 
very interesting. The place could as 
well be called Brooktown, for clear brooks 
or creeks wind thru the village, so the 
Sawkill, the Tannery Brook and the 
Meadow Brook. The words "brook", 
"creek", "kill" mean the same thing, a 
running water flowing toward a river 
or stream. 

About 6 years ago the attractions of 
the land drew many New York artists 
to the place. The natives at first did 
not fancy the modern ways of the new- 
comers, but they have become reconciled, 
for the visitors bring business and 
money to the place. Painters, sculptors, 
architects, musicians, writers for news- 



J* 5 



papers, magazines and periodicals, 
authors and similar folks have made 
Woodstock their summerheadquarters. 
The painters and paintresses, the latter 
often in bloomers or pants, generally 
stick together in gangs. In the good old 
summertime they wander thru the streets 
and into the fields and woods, carrying 
their paintboxes, brushes, easels, camp- 
stools, select choice places and dot the 
landscape picturesquely. I tell you they 
swank their old brushes in style, these 
regular artists! 

45 years ago there was a different 
class of people in Woodstock than there 
is now. Tanneries and sawmills were 
going in lively style and the people were 
always busy. The bluestone-business 
was blooming. Quarries producing the 
bluestones, which were used as flagstones 
and for building purposes, were numer- 
ous in and around Woodstock. In some 
of them 20 men were employed steadily, 
and every weekday from 10 to 40 loaded 
wagons with bluestones left the village. 
Now only two quarries are running, the 
larger one belonging to Steward Jones, 
who has a few men working, changing, 
when necessary, quarrywork with farm- 
work. Woodstock has grown a little 
since that time. It will grow to be a 
city, by and by. The houses stand 
apart, with plenty of space to spare for 
flower gardens and vegetable gardens. 
Good boarding houses and hotels accom- 
odate the visitors. "The Aliens", on the 
hill, has a studio building close by and 
offers a fine view of the mountains and 
valley. "The Irvington", Hotel and 
Restaurant, Mr. A. Kohl, proprietor, 
serves good meals and gives rooms at 
moderate prices during all seasons. The 
"Tannery Brook House" is also very re- 
commendable. Several good garages 
for autos and repairing are handy in 
the village. 

A prominent landmark is the Dutch 
Reformed Church, on Main Street, op- 
posite the Post Office, with its white, 
sharply pointed spire crowned by an 
arrowweathervane turning on a brass- 
ball. 

Woodstock has 4 churches: Dutch Re- 
formed Protestant Church, Rev. J. F. 
Nichols, D. D., Pastor, and Noah L. 
Mower, Sexton; Methodist Church; 
Lutheran Church; Christian Science 
Church. 

By the way, at the Presidential Elec- 
tion, November 2, 1920, at least two 



thirds of Woodstock's legal voters, my- 
self included, voted for Warren G. Hard- 
in g. President-Elect Harding is a Bap- 
tist — an officer in the First Church, 
Marion, Ohio. 

Mr. Noah Mower, of the Reformed 
Church, began his services as Sexton, 
33 years ago and is ringing the church- 
bell since that time at proper occasions. 
That was 1888, at the time of the big 
blizzard, which I remember very well, 
for I was shovelling snow 10 feet high 
in New York that time. The Reformed 
Church was organized Jan. 5, 1805, and 
celebrated the Centennial or its 100th 
Anniversary Jan. 5, 1905. Rev. W. F. 
Luther was Pastor and Chairman. He 
moved away. The church offered a 
hearty welcome to instructors, authors 
and artists. I am sure, that "Welcome!" 
has had effect since then. I often listened 
Sunday mornings from Diedrich's house 
nearby to the singing of the assembled 
congregation and was astonished to hear 
the churchfolks sing their hymns and 
songs to the melodies "Deutschland, 
Deutschland fiber alles", "Ich hatt einen 
Kameraden", "Ich bin ein deutscher 
Knabe". To my mind came the lines 
of one of my own poems: 

"Du deutscher Geist, der ivie Sonnen 
flammt, 

durch dich soil die Welt noch ge- 
su nden!" 

Behind the Irvington Hotel on the 
Rock City Road, stands Mr. Stanley B. 
I o igyedr's residence and garage. Long- 
year owns and manages the autostages 
and buses which bring the travelers to 
and from Woodstock to their destinations. 
One of the best autoloads in New York 
State leads from Kingston to West Hur- 
ley, Woodstock, Bearsville and farther 
on. The autoroads around the Asholcan 
Reservoir, to which this New State Road 
brings you, are without reproach. 

Correct distances are: 
Ingston, West Shore Depot, to Wood- 
stock, centre, 12 miles, to West Hurley, 
7 miles; Kingston, city limits, to Wood- 
stock, centre, 10 miles; Woodstock to 
Wesi Hurley, West Shore Depot. 4 110 
miles, to Ashokan, on the Reservoir. 4 
miles: Woodstock to Meads Hotel, a 
walk straight up the mountain. 2% miles, 
to the left on the Rock City Road to 
Shady, 3 miles, to the right on the Rock 
City Road a walk up the mountain to 



£ 6 £ 



the top of Overlook Mountain and the 
Overlook House, 5 miles; Woodstock to 
Saugerties, 10 miles; Woodstock ^ to 
Bearsville 2 miles; Bearsville to Ventcta, 
12 miles; Woodatocfc to Montana, 1% 
miles. When you walk on the flanks of 
Overlook vou find often these significant 
signs adorning the way (I found Frost 
Valley" on my walk of 100 miles thru 
the Western Catskills littered with 
them) : "No Passing thru Private Road ; 
"No Thorofare. Please keep to the 
Highway"; "Private Property. No 
Thorofare"; "Tresprassing on these 
grounds is forbidden by penalty of the 
Law"; "Keep off. Dogs!"; "Danger. 
Keep out!"; "No Strangers allowed 
here". 

The Village Green or Village Centre, 
a small green place shaded by old locust 
trees and maples, is on Main Street in 
front of the Dutch Reformed Church. 
There during June, July, August and 
until middle of September a fair is held 
every Saturday morning, to which the 
people stream and have a pleasant, en- 
tertaining time and buy things which 
catch their fancy: objects of art, sculp- 
tures, paintings, useful articles, cloths, 
shirts, shoes, stockings, homemade cakes 
and pies, honey, candy, everything cheap. 

Opposite the church and The Green 
on Main Street is the Post Office. An 
hour before it op^ns for mail delivery 
a waiting crowd gathers in front of the 
little house and holds sweet gossip. On 
the iron railings along the sidewalk they 
roost, and it is a special pleasure to run 
the gauntlet between the waiting; crowd 
lining the sidewalk on both sides. 

In the village are 2 grocery stores, 
owned and conducted by Happy and 
Elwy '. the other by the Elwyn Brothers; 
vvsnaper and stationery store, con- 
duced bv Norman Elwyn; 1 barber shop, 
the artist being Mr. Larry H. Elwyn, 
shortly called "Larry the Barber", the 
father of the Elwyn Bros.; 3 ice- crean 
and lunch rooms, one of them 
owned by Mr. Noah Mower; 1 butcher 
sh~->: 1 tailorshop; 1 shoemakershop ; 
1 drugstore and artshop. 

The Drugstore and "Little Art Shop" 
is conducted by Mr. L. E. Jones, who 
makes and sells very fine photographs of 
Woodstock landscapes. 

The old shoemaker is an expert in his 
line. His replies are original and typ- 
ical, i. e.— Customer: "Are the shoes 
done?" Shoemaker: "No! Aint don- 



yet." Customer: "When will you have 
them done?" Shoemaker: "Cant tell. 
Got too much work to do." Customer: 
"Tomorrow?" Old Shoemaker: "Cant 
tell. Sometime next week." 

There is no laundry and no bakery 
in Woodstock. A laundry would do well 
during the summermonths, a bakery 
probably all the year round. You can- 
not get pies or cakes in Woodstock, 
unless you bake them yourself or wait 
till Saturday, when the grocers sell a 
few which come from Kingston. The 
bread comes from Kingston daily. In 
the summertime 3 Woodstock dairies 
give a sufficient supply of milk. 

One excellent dentist is in Woodstock, 
Dr. R. B. Whelan. 

The Woodstockers are a friendly, sens- 
ible, pleasant lot, all good fellows. A 
typical Woodstocker is Larry the Barber. 
He is a first class artist in his line, has 
a good knowledge of humans and their 
doine-s and can tell something of Wood- 
stock's history. 

Not to fore-et Dr. Mortimer B. Downer, 
the busy village doctor. He knows 
Woodstock's history and its legends by 
heart. During his 25 years in the vil- 
lage he assisted at the birth of 700 
babies and brought them into the light 
of day sound and happv. That means 
much and is worth while. He owns a 
fine house on Main Street, near the end 
of the village toward Bearsville. 

I had the pleasure to make the per- 
sonal acquaintance of some of the most 
distinguished artists and writers. On 
the Saugerties Road Mr. William M. 
Fisher superintends the "Art Exhibition" 
in the AH Leaque Building. On the 
samfl road, farther on below the "Sau- 
gerties Hotel" live the famous nainters 
Carl Erie Lindin and Birr/e Harrison. 
Mr. Harrison also owns a house near 
B<-ars.vilK A little way farther on, 
on the left side of the road, lives during 
the summer months the New York artist 
Robert Chandler on his Ritterburg. A 
.iollv big fellow he enjoys life in his 
own way, in his own style and according 
to h>'s own tastes. He has no objection 
to the Sawkill, which flows near by, 
across the street, but he prefers stronger 
and fiercer stuff than Sawkill water to 
satisfy his inside longings. 

In Birdcliff, on the Rock City Road, 
halfway up the mountain, live several 
writers, instructors, savants and pain- 
ters of note. 



^* f w* 



In Montana Village lived summer 1920 
the Italian sculptor Alfeo Faggi- He 
returned to New York City in September, 
then went away to Chicago. 

Near Bearsville live on Rohland's 
Estate the artists Paid Rohland and his 
wife Mrs. Caroline Rohland-Spears. The 
paintings of both denote mastery. Paul 
Rohland's flower pieces are of special 
delicacy and sunny brightness and are, 
like his portraits, of charming spirit- 
uality. In October Mr. and Mrs. Rohland 
left for Southern France and Italy on 
a tour of study and pleasure. They in- 
tend to return autumn 1921. 

The painter Ernest Finey and his 
brother Paul, the sculptor, have their 
new dwelling in the woods not far from 
Rohlands'. It was designed by Ernst 
in original style, was built summer 1920 
and stands treesurrounded as a realized 
little aircastle with studio, very practical 
and comfortable. 

Leon Kroll, in his studio below Roh- 
land's house, accomplished summer 1920 
some of his masterpieces., His painting 
"A Day in August", an American idyll 
of great charm and freshness, was dur- 
ing November on exhibition at the Gim- 
pel and Wildenstein Galleries, 647 Fifth 
Ave., New York City, with works of 
the "New Society of Artists", of which 
he is a member. Kroll has the gift to 
give his models personality in his paint- 
ings and, what few can do, lets their 
souls harmonize with the characters of 
landscapes, I know painters who think 
it great art to wipe out the personalities 
of their models and who even go far 
enough to transform them into blots of 
paint. Leon Kroll has mastered to a 
nicety the science of "Dynamic Sym- 
metry" which Jay Hambridge evolves 
in his treatise. 

On Rohland's estate lives also during 
the summermonths the musical genius 
Eugen Haile with his wife, the singer, 
Mrs- Elise Haile and his daughter, the 
violinist, V\'inifred. Many are the fine 
songs which I heard Haile compose and 
sing up there. 



In closing this story I mention, with 
my other good friends whom I intro- 
duced to the readers, the painter Mr. 
Albert Beckwith Campbell-Shields. He 
lives with his wife Elizabeth and his 
two little ones, Pat and a sweet girlie, 
in his own house now not far from Tan- 
nery Brook, near Main Street. He just 
loves the mountainbrooks, whose big 
trouts he knows to entice masterfully. 
To the ever singing crystalclear and 
pearlfoamy cascading souls of the brooks 
he gives forms full of witchery in his 
paintings. He hails from the old royal 
Irish family of the O'Sheas, whose love 
of freedom is well known. 

I also met in Woodstock the American 
artist .17V. Arndt and his mother. He 
is a descendant of Ernst Moritz Arndt, 
the German poet of worldrenown. 

Fcr the first time I met in Woodstock 
my new friend, the 'eminent poet and 
writer Mr. Ehnar Vente. He owns now 
Hans Koch's farm, which I described in 
my "Stories of the Catskills". Koch's 
moved away. 

During his 2 weeks vacation in a 
mountainsidehouse in the middle of the 
woods near Ashokan, Mr. Oskar Ko'l- 
brunner, novelist and poet, at that time 
Secretary of the Swiss Consulate, 
York City, gave me a glad surprise by 
visiting me in Diederich's house on a 
fine August day. 

I had not the pleasure to me t 
poet Richard Le Galienne, who I 
near Shady. 

That's Woodstock. Many love it- The 
Catskill Mountains are ever thor?, + he 
green forests and the flowery mead 
and the mountainbrooks are ever there 
to make the hearts rejoice. As a leave- 
taking to the good people who hi 
there and work there, because they mast 
or because they like it, or who hav i a 
fine time and take it easy, because they 
like it and because they can afford it. 
1 ay with my Connecticut friend, 
moth r Jane, the old Irishwoman: "God 
js you!" 



ft?* o <«5* 



If you mail your letters or parcels to or from 
Woodstock, Ulster Co., New York 



If you mail your letters or parcels 
to or from Woodstock, at the foot of 
the Catskills, write always clearly: 
Woodstock, Ulster Co., N. Y. 

For if you leave out "Ulster Co., N.Y.", 
your letters or parcels might go astray, 
as there are many other "Woodstocks", 
of which I name here a few: 

Woodstock, Ala., — Conn., — Ga. — 
111., — Ky., — Md., — Minn., — N. H. 
There is also a Woodstock in England, 
then there is a "New Woodstock" in 



Madison Co., N. Y., a "Woodstown" in 
New Jersey (N. J.) and a "Woodside" 
in Long Island, N. Y. 

To follow this advice will be to your 
own advantage and will lighten the 
burden and make easier the work of our 
efficient Postmistress Miss Clara M. 
Park. 

W. Benignus. 

Woodstock, Ulster Co., N. Y., 
Oct. 27. 1920. 



The Little Moongoldgirl 

There is a little Moongoldgirl, 
a lovely, dainty, perfect pearl. 
Just listen, and you hear her croon : 
"I datched a big biece ob de moon!" 
I guess, ohe thing for us to do 
is, just to catch a moonpiece too. 



The Village Smith of Bearsville 



Woodstock Story No. 2 
By William Benignus 



There is much lore to be told about 
Woodstock of years ago, many interest- 
ing stories and legends reaching back 
to the time when the first palefaces 
settled here and the Indians were still 
the rightful owners of the land. Who- 
ever has time and leisure to collect these 
legends and has the gift and genius 
to write them down in plain good style, 
will find appreciative readers enough all 
over the United States. 



A few years ago I camped in the 
Shawangunk Mountains with the purpose 
to collect the legends and sagas of these 
wild and romantic regions over which 
the Indians used to roam and hunt and 
whose old trails are still used by the 
huckleberrypickers who swarm over the 
mountains in the months of July and 
August and by hunters who come up 
there later.. My time and my lack of 
funds did not allow me to carry out 
my intention. The same is 'he case, as 
far as my collecting of legends and 
sagas of the Catskill Mountains is con- 
cerned, not to mention the Adirondack 
Mountains which, in this respect, I never 
had the opportunity to see, much less 
to explore. I can but touch the matter 



here and give other writers, who are 
working under more favorable condi- 
tions, a start. 

Regarding my Shawangunk Mountain 
Stories, long out of print, the well-known 
Poet and Author, Historian, Collector 
and Recorder of Legends and Folk-Lore 
of Central Pennsylvania and the Penn- 
sylvania Mountains, Col. Henry W. 
Shoemaker wrote about them (Altoona 
Tribune", Sept. 1, 1916) : "Nature 
fashions her masterworks faultlessly. 
Religion can be taught by the study of 
the wonders of nature, of scenes that 
are an inspiration to human souls. 

The movement to preserve the old time 
legends and tales of our mountains seems 
to be spreading in various directions. 
Recently W. Benignus, a New York poet, 
has issued an attractive volume entitled 
"Shawangunk Mountain Stories". These 
stories were collected in the Shawangunk 
Mountains in New York state and all 
of them are intensely interesting and 
novel. 

Mr. Benignus is to be congratulated 
for Ids work in securing these old tales 
before they were lost in oblivion. Some 



<£* 9 <£ 



of them obviously bear the touch of Mr. 
Benignus' own genius, but the founda- 
tion of all of them comes down from 
Indian days. In addition to their value 
as folk-lore, a collection of tales of this 
kind has an added purpose in creating 
an interest in natural scenery. The 
places described in such a book are bound 
to be sought out by nature lovers, and 
in this way each locality will become 
possessed of a coterie of staunch friends." 

During my stay in Woodstock my 
friend Eugen Schleicher mentioned to 
me that there had been a Woodstock 
War long years ago and that a black- 
smith in one of the neighboring villages 
could tell particulars about it. It might 
be the smith in Bearsville. 

I decided to investigate and started 
for Bearsville on the beautiful afternoon 
of Thursday, October the 14th. While 
I walked leisurely along the State Road 
an auto came up in the same direction 
and I hailed it. Its occupants, a young 
couple, gathered me in kindly. We rode 
50 yards, when, bang-g-g!!!, the right 
front tire busted. "Too bad," said Leon, 
"vou will have to walk to Bearsville." 
"Probably, and thank you very much," 
— I said, "but you have to go back to 
Woodstock for rephirs." The auto 
slowly turned and crawled back to a 
Woodstock garage. I slowly walked 
ahead and soon hailed a chauffeur who 
came along in a fine, big car. He took 
me up and along and let me off in front 
of the Bearsville Post Office and Grocery 
Store of F. and C. Schultis, Dealers in 
General Merchandise, established since 
1875. There the chauffeur showed me 
the smithy, which stands across the brook 
to the right. 

A man carrying an empty barrel 
walked from the smithy across the road 
toward a house opposite. It was the 
smith himself, Mr. Conrad Losher, who 
had just closed up his blacksmithshop. 
I walked up to him, we greeted and I 
made known the purpose of my being 
there. Mr. Losher is a pleasant, plain, 
e-revhaired, intelligent looking man of 
about 56 years of age. Of the Wood- 
stock War he could but tell me that he 
had heard from his father that such a 
war had been. We nevertheless had an 
interesting talk. "I feel discouraged," 
said Mr. Losher, "since last year." 
"What happened?" I asked. "My only 
boy died, Cornelius. I have a married 
daughter, but I cant get over loosing 
him. He died of influenza." "How old 



was he?" I asked- "Twenty. He was," 
Mr. Losher told me, "the finest and best 
boy that ever lived. He had a quiet 
way about him and never said a bad 
word to me or anybody. He honored his 
parents and was kind to everybody. If 
a fellow who was hungry came along 
and asked him for something to eat, he 
always gave him the best. If a man 
short of money asked him for a loan 
and a helpout with a little money, he 
always gave him something. He loaned 
money even to strangers and if I said 
to him: "Cornelius, that fellow will never 
pay you back", then he just smiled and 
said: Never mind. Strange to say, they 
all paid him, even if some of them came 
back after a years' time or later." "It's 
too bad you lost him," I said, "I sure 
would have liked to have Cornelius as 
a friend. But brace up, man! We all 
have to get over our losses. I myself 
lost a splendid brother in Germany 1918, 
during the war thru that malicious in- 
fluenza. Brace up, man, take courage. 
We have work to do in the world yet, 
and that is the best balm. Your boy is 
not lost to you. We all meet again in 
the other world." 

Between the Post Office and Grocery 
Store on one side and Mr. Losher's house 
and smithy on the other there flows the 
Sawkill, a clear brook which supplies 
the City of Kingston with pure drinking 
water. It is the same brook which flows 
thru Woodstock on its farther way, runs 
alone the Saugerties Road as far as Mr. 
Biree Harrison's residence then swings 
to the right and flows thru the woods. 
Near Robert Chandler's Ritterburg it 
forms a fine waterfall. Mr. Losher told 
me that he has seen the Sawkill rise 10 
feet higher, so it ran over its banks and 
flooded the highway, carrying with it 
trees, rolling rocks and tearing madly 
and powerfully along. That was in 
1888. the year of the big blizzard, and 
it rained like a cloudburst 24 hours 
steadily when the brook rose so high. 

From Bearsville two good autoroads 
lead to Venicia, 12 miles away, and one 
leads to Shady, to Pine Hill and to the 
Ashokan Reservoir. The little road up- 
hill, passing the Grocery, leads to Mr. 
Harrison's Beardsville residence, which 
is situated on rock land and swampy 
one too, but just suited to an artist's 
taste. 

My inquiry about the Woodstock War 
brought me to Mr. Schultis. He could 
not tell me more than that he had heard 



•J* 10 J* 



his father speak about it, but that he 
knew no particulars. 

In Woodstock I heard later on that 



a blacksmith lives in Saugerties who 
knows all about the Woodstock War. The 
following story is the result of my fur- 
ther investigations. 



The Woodstock War 



Woodstock Story No. 3 
By William Benignus 



A certain blacksmith in Saugerties 
possesses a heirloom in the shape of an 
enormously long trumpet, that might be 
called a Catskill Alphorn. He claims it 
to be a relic of the Woodstock War of 
which he relates very interestingly as 
follows : 

"Many years ago most of the land 
around Woodstock was claimed by rich 
landholders in New York. Some of their 
descendants are still living in New York 
and can tell the story also, but not from 
the point of the old Woodstock farmers. 
These sturdy and freespirited farmers 
who were tilling the land, however did 
not recognize the claims of these rich 
landholders, but defended their rights 
against the usurping usurers with all 
available means. 

Thus it happened that when the New 
York landlords sent their men to collect 
dues or taxes, they were received by the 
Woodstockers with derision and mockery 
and had to return to their masters 
emptyhanded. 

But these greedy masters must have 
that money of the toiling landtillers. So 
they armpd their collectors, who came 
back to Woodstock and most likely by 
use of force made collections from the 
natives which they threatened and terri- 
fied. 

This bitter experience thought the 
farmers that resistance only could help. 
And as they had a commom cause, they 
stood together to take up the fight 
aeainst the intruders, if need be to the 



bitter end. They mobilized the whole 
valley, so that if the collectors came 
aa-ain they should not find one of two 
defenseless families to defy them, but 
fiftv determined farmers and their house- 
holds, every man, woman, boy and girl 
of proper age armed to the teeth. 

The great question was, how to collect 
such a force quickly and how to spread 
the alarm most effectively. There must 
have .been some brave men from Switzer- 
land amongst them, who knew the use 
of the Alphorn and its meaning. For 
it was decreed that every farmer should 
■provide himself with a horn or trumpet 
of a kind like the blacksmith of Sau- 
gerties has one, so that when the collec- 
tors and their henchmen approached, 
watchers could give the alarm. Every 
farmer hearing it would get his own 
horn and blow it, to call to arms, and 
the populace of the valley armed with 
muskets, scythes and havforks would 
run to assist the oppressed neighbors. 

And the collectors came again to en- 
force their unrightful claims. This 
time the valleys and hills were ringing 
with hornsignals, and the farmers, wear- 
ing masks, caught the collectors and 
their men, gave them a sound thrashing 
and sent them back to New York not 
with money but with black and blue 
souvenir marks." 

These old Woodstockers had indepen- 
dent spirits and stood up as bravely for 
their rights as the old Swiss mountain- 
eers against the robberknights in the 
time of Arnold von Winkelried. 



Jt 11 <£ 



The Oatskill Mountains as seen from Woodstock 



During my stay in Woodstock, — from 
July 9th till November 5th — , the moun- 
tains as seen from the village interested 
me always. The residents, upon inquiry, 
could only tell me the name of old Over- 
look and Round Top and of The Ohio, 
the hill. Of the rest they said: They 
have no names. Maybe they have offic- 
ial ones, which I did not know, so I de- 
cided to name them myself. Here goes: 

If you stand opposite Happy and El- 
wyn's Grocery Store across Main Street 
and look toward the North and North- 
west you have before you the Overlook 
Mountain Range, which commences near 
Woodstock and ends near Bearsville. 
Farthest to the east, toward the Hudson, 
is the mountain which gives the range 
its name, the Overlook. He is the high- 
est of the company. On his crest stands 
the "Overlook Mountain House". West 
of the Overlook are mountains of orig- 
inal shapes which I name "Saddlebow 
Mountains. In the centre of the Bow 
stands "Mead's House", a pleasant hotel 
which, in white color, is visible from 
Woodstock. The mountain to the rie-ht 
of the bow. resp. east of it, is "The 
Sentinel or Horaehead Mountain" . Mead's 
Hotel is open during winter, the "Over- 
look House" is closed. The mountain 
to the left of the bow, resp. west of it, 
ip Horseback Mountain, while the next 
mountain w^st, toward B°arsville. is 
Horsetail Mountain. Behind it stands 
The Watchman, broad and solid. Where 
Horsetail Mountain ends another range 
of mountains begins and swings around 



the Ashokan Reservoir. These moun- 
tains and hills are seen to the best ad- 
vantage on the Rock City Road near 
where the Cemetery begins. Wonderful 
views offer themselves here at sunset 
hours. If you look towards Bearsville, 
at the point where Horsetail Mountain 
ends, a long range of hills swings in 
a halfcircle to the left, at its end The 
Ohio. Behind these hills, commencing 
at the left, tops of the following moun- 
tains are seen: High Point and, looking 
to the right, Ticetonyk, then comes into 
view the original top of Camelback 
Mountain, then Longneck and, right be- 
hind Bearsville, Sunset Mountain and 
to the right of it The Watchman. These 
mountains are situated in the Sunset 
Range, ending with the Watchman, 
where the Horsetail and the Saddlebow 
Mountains begin. 

I mention one more mountain of an 
odd shape. It can be seen from a spot 
near Rohland's house and has the round 
shape of a helmet. I call this treeclad 
mountain, which belongs to the Saddle- 
bow Mountains, the War Helmet. 

The wildernesses of these forestclad 
mountain regions are a. paradise for 
hunters, who start at their sport in 
November. Game is plentiful. Ra- 
coons, porcupines, foxes, hares, rabbits, 
deer, bears are found. Of gamebirds 
there are partridges and grouse. Many 
of the mountainbrooks hold trout of 
good sizes, so the Sawkill and Esopns 
Creek. The season for trout begins in 
April. 



Awakening in May 



Moi i .'..•'.' Song. 

The Lord with visage of shining light, 

who dwells in realms afar, 

has bathed in glories, golden and bright, 

the Earth, his beautiful star. 

The Sun, the victorious Orb of Day, 

tints rosy each fleecy cloud, 

and larks, that rise with a joyous lay,' 

:,: swing jubilant echoes about. :,: 



By W. Benignus 

The purple mountains, erect and awake, 
greet proudly the brilliant azure, 
reflect themselves in a mirrorlake 
which shimmers like silver pure. 
The morningbreeze whispers thru 
forests green, 
and meadowbrooks merrily run 
where flowers, sparking in dowpearls' 

sheen, 
:,:are opening their hearts to the Sun.:,: 



12 



A Visit to Alfeo Faggi 



In appreciation of their genius dedicated to the sculptors 

Hunt Diederich and Alfeo Faggi 

and to their talented and fair Smdmates 



The Sculptors Hunt Diederich and Alfeo Faggi. 
A Visit to Faggis. 

Woodstock Story No. 4 By William Benignus 



During my stay in Woodstock, July, 
August, September, October 1920, I 
lived and worked as useful or handy 
man in the house of Mr. Hunt Diederich, 
cor. Main Street and Tannery Brook, 
helping out as a friend, for female help 
was as scarce that time as goldpebbles 
in the Catskill creeks. Diederichs were 
well liked im the village. Noah Mower 
said to me once, when I borrowed from 
him a grubaxe: "Diederich is a good 
neighbor. He can have anything from 
me." 

Diederich, an American sculptor and 
designer of fame, was born on his 
father's landed estate in Hungary. At 
the age of 17 he came to America for 
the first time. From his mother's side 
he descends from one of the oldest and 
most distinguished American families. 
One of his ancestors, a Hunt, was U. S. 
State Governor. 

Hunt Diederich's works, many in iron, 
some in bronze, are exceptionally ex- 
pressive by the strength of their con- 
ception and the harmonious swing and 
movement of their curves and lines. 

Diederich certainly is an artist of 
genius and a master of the line. Ho is 
a sharp observer of nature and loves to 
depict her in spirited actions and fight- 
ing moods, in attack and defense, in 
grapple, stroke and parry, in love and 
in hate, in earnest and in play. Horses, 
dogs, deer, fighting bulls, alone or with 
men, in hunt or in game or at play, are 
his favorite objects, also woman. 

Diederich is of big build and power- 
ful frame, while Faggi, his colleague 



in the art of sculpture, is a finely built 
man of medium size. Compared with 
Faggi, of whom I speak later, the mind- 
quality of his work is quite different 
from that of the latter. The two, in 
this respect, move in different directions, 
thereby reaching different heights or 
spheres. According to their natures 
they try for different goals. Diederich 
draws the stuff for his creations from 
the material and sensual world, Faggi 
finds the source for his inspirations in 
the spiritual ivorld. Diederich prides 
himself on being material. No doubt 
of Diederich's sincerity in that respect, 
but I believe his real nature is not so 
badly material, for he is also a poet, and 
a good one. 

Both sculptors are great artists in 
their own individual ways and charac- 
teristic styles. Both possess the nervous 
temperament, but while with Faggi it 
is controlled, with Diederich it occasionly 
breaks loose with volcanic impetuosity 
and impatience. Diederich's violent soul 
is that of a restless tempest, Faggi's 
sensitive soul is that of a clarified moun- 
tainbrook reflecting the serene deeps of a 
late summer sky. 

Mrs. Marie Hunt Diederich Anders 
was bcrn, raised and educated in St. 
Petersburg. Her father was a Bait, her 
mother hails from Munich, Bavaria. 
Mrs. Diederich too, is an artist and is 
a good colorist. She is also a good lin- 
guist. And the best of all, she is good 
to everybody and a most devoted mother 
to her two darling children. 

To the Diederichs on July the 10th, 
1920, the day after I came to Woodstock, 



<£* lo «£* 



a boy was born. The proud and lucky 
parents christened him after his grand- 
father William Hunt Diederich. He is 
a wonderful youngster, well formed and 
healthy, with big, expressive blue eyes. 
His sister of 4^ years, blonde, blue- 
eyed, selfwilled, gifted, pretty little 
Kuku, — Kuku is a pet name, her right 
name is Sibyl Diederich — , really a dar- 
ling and dear, fell in love with her little 
brother at once when, two weeks later, 
her 'mother came home with him from 
the Benedictine Hospital in Kingston, 
N. Y. That time Mrs. Sarah Living- 
stone -Mundhenk and myself were con- 
scientiously taking care of Diederich's 
household. Mrs. Mundhenk who is the 
wife of the sculptor Oscar Mundhenk 
had her little Betty with her, Kuku's 
affectionate playmate, being as big as 
Kuku but a few months younger. Mrs. 
Mundhenk left soon. She is happy now 
to call a little babygirl, Ellen Living- 
stone-Mundhenk, born the 29th of August 
1920, her loveheart and heart's treasure. 
Mrs. Mundhenk is an excellent writer 
of Children's Stories. 

To return to Diederich. The first 
American Exhibition of Sculpture by 
Hunt Diederich was held at the Kingore 
Galleries, 668 Fifth Avenue, New York, 
lasting from April the 20th until May 
the 12th, 1920. An introduction to this 
exhibition was written by Christian 
Brinton. I quote from it some profes- 
sional considerations of Diederich, which 
throw a good light on his way of doing 
things. The sculptor says: 

"Before beginning a piece of work I 
make up my mind precisely what I want 
to do, and then endeavor to catch my 
impression on the wing, as it were. I 
try to execute it at the moment when 
I see it most clearly and most completely, 
no matter where I- may happen to be 
at the time. I first make a rapid sketch 
in wax, which I carry about for emer- 
gencies and thus have ready at hand. 
This sketch is small, as small as possible, 
so as to entail no waste of time or energy. 
I execute a quantity of these quick 
sketches, which I leave around the studio 
and turn to as I feel inclined- Those 
that seem vital and interesting I work 
into more permanent form, the rest I 
forget. I do a lot of small, decorative, 
and in a sense utilitarian things, for I 
believe that art should begin at the 
bottom, not the top. Art should be use- 
ful, should fulfill some specific end and 
purpose in our lives and homes. There 



can be as much aesthetic joy in making 
a candlestick or designing the leg of a 
table as in the treatment of the nude. 
Personally I like to work in as many 
different media as possible. Sculpture 
has been too long an affair of marble 
and bronze. It is too remote, too in- 
accessible. We must do everything 
possible to extend its scope and appeal, 
to insure for it a wider, more popular 
acceptance." 

"My effort," he continues with enthu- 
siasm, "tends toward the evolution of a 
distinctive style. When I have once per- 
fected a definite style, and by style I do 
not mean mannerism, or even manner, 
I shall be ready to attack any given 
problem. Style is to me the crystalliza- 
tion of one's taste and one's convictions, 
and art without slyle is like a dog with- 
out breed. Success in art is, I think, 
more often than is generally supposed, 
a matter of how you begin. If you start 
a thing right, you are apt to finish it 
right, but if you start without faith or 
spirit, your work will always remain 
inert and lifeless. One should complete 
a piece of work with the same degree of 
enthusiasm one possesses at the outset. 
Pleasure in creation, in creative effort, 
is the touchstone of artistic achievement. 
A thing not done with pleasure is as 
dead as a thing done for mere duty." 

On the evening of the 24th of Sep- 
tember the Diederich's entertained as 
honored guests the Italian sculptor Alfeo 
Faggi and his wife Beatrice. 

Following Mr. and Mrs. Faggi's in- 
vitation I wended my way, Saturday 
morning, Septemebr the 25th, at 11 a.m., 
from Woodstock uphill in the direction 
of "The Ohio", a hilltop, 1V 2 miles to 
the house of the Faggi's, doing quite 
a little sweating, for the day was as hot 
as a summerday and the air was filled 
with humid vapors as of .coming rains. 
These rains came down in sheets Thurs- 
day, September the 30th and in the night 
to Friday, October the 1st, and swelled 
the brooks of the land around to unusual 
heights, but the morning of October 
the 1st, broke in a glory of sunshine, 
the atmosphere brightened and the old 
mountaingiants again lifted their forest- 
covered backs and heads sharply against 
a clear, blue sky. But to come back to 
September the 25th, I crossed two 
bridges, the first spanning the Tannery 
Brook and the second the clear, broad 
brook called the Sawkill. I passed soon, 
on the right side, an apple orchard where 



v* 14 & 



golden and red apples in rich weight 
were bending every branch of the patient 
trees. The leaves of the maples along 
the road were already coloring bright 
yellow and everywhere scarlet and purple 
points of treetops and twigs announced 
the coming of frosty weather but also 
of the wonderful weeks of the American 
Indian summer. The road led now up- 
hill At the top of the long first hill 
I arrived after a brisk walk of about 
25 minutes. There stood on the left 
side of the road" a white house in country 
style, the house which I was seeking. I 
had the pleasure to find the artist and 
his charming wife at home. On the 
veranda Mrs. Faggi was in animated 
conversation with Mr. X. I was intro- 
duced to him. A few minutes later 
there arrived in an auto Mr. Y. and 
Mr. Z. The three are friends of the 
wellknown designer, author and poet 
Hans Stengel, a German, born in Wis- 
consin. Stengel served 1914 as officer 
in the German Army, was dismissed on 
account of ill-health and returned 1915 
to the United States. 

On account of his sympathies with 
the German people he was arrested in 
New York as a dangerous character by 
the U. S. Government, respectively by 
the Wilson Government, first sent to 
Ellis Tslavd and with hundreds of poor 
wretches of German descent detained in 
the overcrowded and deadly unsanitary 
hogpen for humans. A good many of 
the men and women detained there ana 
tortured, contracted deadly diseases and 
som- of them died. After Stengel had 
tasted to the bottom the delights of this 
famous isle and contracted there tuber- 
culosis, he was transfered to Fort Ogle- 
thorpe and interned during wartime. 
Interned with him in the same camp for 
the duration of the worldwar was also 
his friend, the German author and poet 
Hanns Heinz Evers. Their experiences 
at Fort Oglethorpe are a story by it- 
self. Stengel' spent the summer months 
of 1920 at Woodstock, where I made his 
personal acquaintance. He had a studio 
there at "The Aliens", upon a hill from 
which a fine view of "Woodstock in the 
Valley" and of the Overlook Heights 
spreads out before the beholders. Sten- 
gel has done some very good portrait 
and landscape painting during his stay 
in Woodstock. Messrs. X, Y and Z 
soon said Goodbye and went ahead in 
their auto. 

The Faggi house stands on a hilltop, 
and from there a fair panorama of the 



Eastern Catskills is seen, Overlook 
Mountain being the main feature. The 
old Giant stretches out strongly, his 
rocknose pointing east toward the Hud- 
son. Far in the distance the blueing 
Connecticut Hills in mellow tints form 
the skyline. 

Faggi's boy Giovanni was arduously 
playing close to the road in front of the 
house, a bright little fellow for whom 
I made later on some bows and arrows 
which I cut in the woods near. by. Armed 
with these he courageously strolled out 
on a hunting expedition as a terrible 
Indian to go for bears with his fellow 
playmates in the neighborhood. 

Some delightful hours I spent up 
there, a well of pure, cool water always 
near to quench the thirst. Mrs. Faggi, 
an accomplished composer of songs, 
played after lunch for me on the piano 
three of her own compositions, ' Venieian 
Boat Song", "Toscan Reapers" and a 
beautiful "Love Song", thre^ musical 
gem;- of simple and perfect b°auty and 
expression. They have not been pub- 
ished. 

I am glad to have made that visit- 
Mr. Faggi soon led me across the road 
to his airy studio in a barn close by 
and showed me four of his latest crea- 
tions which he had completed up here in 
Montana, as the group of scattered 
country houses of this neighborhood is 
called. Here he worked undisturbed. 

I like his work. Faggi's art lifts us 
from the actual and material, from the 
world of hard facts to a spiritual world 
of ideals, golden dreams of his mind's 
creation. It impresses, but it must be 
studied thoughtfully to be fully appre- 
ciated. 

His "Madonna with Child" represents 
the mothersoul splendidly. The execu- 
tion of the two figures in bust, reminded 
me of an exalted Buddha, — thought 
brought to life in marble. A great Jap- 
anese artist and sage might have given 
it the same form. A longer study makes 
you admire the purity of this work, the 
sweetness, seriousness and depths of 
feeling of the mother's face and the 
loveliness of the child. For love is the 
greatest thing in the world, and mother- 
love is the very greatest. Ever as the 
supreme example we have Mary, Mother 
of Christ. She gave to the world her 
heart's best treasure, her son, the Re- 
deemer, the Man of Men. 



J* 15 <£ 



Purity of thought and spiritual pro- 
fondity mark and characterize all of 
Mr. Faggi's works. These qualities 
come to light in his "Eve", a nude, up- 
right, flowerlike, slender female figure 
whose lower limbs, at first sight, seem 
to be out of proportion to the upper parts 
of the body. The legs, up to the hips, 
are very long. Yet this strangeness 
disappears when you look at the figure 
as an embodied dream repi'esenting the 
loveseeking flowersoul of woman as a 
type, a slender and fair being, holding 
tenderly and gracefully in hands close 
to her finely shaped body the symbol of 
fruitfulness, the apple. To me the apple, 
instead of being a symbol of seductive 
sin, is a healthy symbol of fruitfulness 
and life productive. 

A strong imaginative piece is the in- 
tellectual head, in bronze, of a Thinker, 
with the stern, pronounced features of 
a warrior and statesman. 



The fourth piece, which captured me 
most and spoke to me a sympathetic 
language, was the head of the Japanese 
poet Yone Naghugi, who lives in Tokio. 
In this refined face of a philosopher and 
poet the best qualities of the great 
Chinese and Japanese races, nobliness 
and kindness of thought, concentration, 
meditation, inner contemplation and an 
aspiring spirit find expression. The pre- 
tension of some critics that Japanese art 
and religion are simply copied from the 
Chinese is, in my opinion, foundless. 
Japan, of course and naturally, has 
copied much from China, but has great 
original artists, philosophers, statesmen 
and warriors of her own by the plenty. 
But this is a question to discuss which 
belongs to another chapter. 

It was 4 p. m. when I took leave from 
my kind hosts and walked down hill with 
the feeling of having gained an experi- 
ence of pleasurable value. 



Notice. — An exhibition of works cf the sculptor Alfeo Faggi is held in New York 
City, commencing February the "9th and lasting till March the 19th, 1921. 



Torajiro Watonabe 



Into Hunt Diederich's Studio, where 
at Main Street the bridge spans the 
Tannery Brook, moved November 1, 1920, 
the Japanese artist Torajiro Watonabe. 
He is a gentlemanly, goodnatured fellow, 
obliging, kind, natural and very popular 
in the village. I like his enthusiastic 
soul, which appears mainly in his land- 
scape paintings of Woodstock's surround- 
ings, of which he painted many. There 



is nothing of the crazy art in them, they 
are live and show much strength and 
movement in color and execution. These 
are in oils. Watonabe paints also ex- 
cellently in watercolors. In Woodstock 
we just call him Thomas. 

Wm. Benignus. 

Woodstock, Ulster Co., N. Y., 
Nov. 2, 1920. 



V' 




The Old Man of the Mountain 

He sleeps. The while the tempest storms, 
his dream new worlds in brilliance forms. 



When "Old Overlook" smokes 

When Old Overlook smokes, watch out! it will rain soon. 

Look there! the Old Man woke from sleep 

and lit his Giant Pipe. 

The clouds, at first like timid sheep, 

now for a storm are ripe, 

the smoke rolls down the mountainside, 

rainspirits open the clouddoors wide. 



<£* 16 «5* 



The Overlook Mountains ^CfamSu* 6 



They are captivating, these mountains 
of the Overlook Range. Since ages they 
press downward with their weight upon 
their foundations. They are ever im- 
pressive, — in Winter, when white snow- 
mantels cover their giantframes and re- 
flect the sunlight in glittering brilliants, 

— in Spring, when the sprouting green 
of their forests restores them to joyous 
youth, — in Summer, when their vegeta- 
tion blooms in fullness of strength and 
they lay stretched in dreamy meditation, 

— in Autumn, when they are dressed in 
the fairygarments of the fallwoods 
flaming colorharmonies and their souls 
are endowed with dreamvisions of in- 
comparable beauty, at night over them 
the stargemmed sky, at day the hazy 
blue airsea with serenely sailing silver- 
clouds. 

The greatest attraction these moun- 
tains offer, when they announce coming 
rains or thunderstorms. Then watch 
"Old Overlook"! The old fellow is fill- 
ing his pipe! By George, he has lit it 
and is smoking in company with his 
mountainpals! They are having a con- 
fab. They probably talk about the ages 
of the world, when the saltwaters covered 
them and they slowly rose out of the 
deeps, and are standing now, greeting 



sun and sky and are beloved by wild 
creatures and tame men. When at sun- 
set the far mountains are glowing in 
purple they tell each other stories of 
the mysteries of distance and creation. 

See, how white mists and grey mists 
sweep along the flanks of the mountains ! 
The mountaingiants are enjoying a 
smoke. 

When a thunderstorm brews or a 
strong rain is pending, then Old Over- 
look smokes madly. No more a haze or 
a mist mounts up, but a thick fog en- 
velops and covers everything with its 
billows. The smoke from Old Overlook's 
big pipe mounts in clouds over his head, 
grows black and blacker and at last 
rolls down the mountain valleyward in 
the direction of Woodstock. The show 
generally is soon over. The sun appears, 
the refreshed land wakes up and basks 
in the sunshine. 

The mountains present a mag: Ticent 
spectacle when on sunny days the hasten- 
ing clouds, lustrous winddriven wander- 
ships of the skysea, sail thru the opal 
air and their fleeing shadows of chang- 
ing tourmaline glide ghostlike over the 
crests and slopes of the broad giants 
below them. 



Fairy Queen Elsa's Song: 
The Silvery Moonbeams 

The silvery moonbeams tremble 
over the fields, and entrance. 
Fairyland's folks assemble, 
quaintly they play and they dance. 
And I join, as one of their number, 
their games and their singing so bright. 
Flowers rock gently in slumber, 
fragrances weave thru the night. 



& 17 <£ 




WILLIAM BENIGNUS 

Catskill Mountains, near Woodstock, Ulster County, N. Y. 



"While in hot summerdays the mountainspirits of the Overlook Range sent down 
cool breaths of wind and golden floods of sunrays electrified the blood, I cleared with 
brushcutter and sickle the autoload and the forestpaths bothsides on Rohland's place 
and made them look like boulevards and their surroundings like little parks." 



J> 18 J* 



Rohland's Oak 



Woodstock Story No. 6 
By William Benignus 



Seme of the loveliest parts of Wood- 
stock's attractive surroundings are the 
wooded hills of Paul Rohland's 32 acre 
estate on which his house is standing. 
I was engaged by him to weed and hoe 
and cultivate his vegetable garden and 
to broaden and make free of bushes and 
hindering trees the autoroad which leads 
from the State Road uphill to his resi- 
dence and studio, also to clear of over- 
crowding alderbushes the footpath which 
leads from his residence downhill to 
Bearsville, also to cut a path to his 
newly erected bungalow where the ar- 
tists Bradley and Camp lived and to 
put on a pile the timber and boards and 
cart away with a wheelbarrow the rub- 
bish laying around, also to make a little 
park out of a densely overgrown forest- 
grove near his dwelling. The work just 
suited me. Armed with brushcutter and 
sickle I went to work with zeal and 
finished the jobs satisfactorily in a 
period of about 6 weeks. To have a 
pleasant souvenir of this I asked Mr. 
Rohland to kindly write a few lines of 
reference. They follow here: 

"To whr-m it may concern. — This testi- 
fies that Mr. Wm. Benignus has worked 
for me during the summer of 1920. He 
kept in good order my vegetable garden 
and did excellent landscape gardening, 
clearing, broadening and making paths 
and trimming trees and keeping the 
grounds about the house in good con- 
dition. His work has been very satis- 
factory and I find him a reliable person 
to do business with." 

Paul Rohland." 
Bearsville, Ulster Co., N. Y. 

This was during the months of August 
and September. The weather was fine. 
It rained seldom. Often I walked from 
Wood-tec'-: the IV2 miles to the place, 
often a passing auto took me along 
friendlylikn and saved me the time to 
and fro, I describe here my promenad- 
ing, because it is such a pleasant remem- 
brance: I always took my lunch along 
and started from Diederich's House- 
After crossing the Tannery Brook bridge 
the S*~ate Road leads straieht ahead 
toward Bearsville. Near the "Little Art 
Shop" the Meadow Rrook bridge is 
crossed, at the end of the village comes 



another little bridge. The road leads 
on, Ohio Hill to the left, the Overlook 
Mountains to the right, till you come, 
a few minutes from Bearsville, to the 
third little sideroad leading to the right. 
On this soon uphill you go, quite steep. 
First you pass the Finey Brothers' new 
bungalow and studio. They own 3 acres 
of woodland there. Ernst is a painter, 
Paul a sculptor, both excellent artists 
who take work seriously. You come to 
Rohland's estate. To the right lived 
Bradley and Camp. Then comes the 
garage, then a studio building where 
Leon Kroll worked on some great paint- 
ings, then Mr. and Mrs. Rohland's house 
and studio and their admirable flower- 
garden, then the flowersurrounded fairy- 
house of the composer of some of my 
songs, the genius Eugen Haile. A num- 
ber of bungalows and studios, where 
other artists reside, are ahead and 
around. Miss Agnes Tait, the New York 
artist and illustrator camped up there 
in the woods on Rohland's place during 
August and the first week of September. 
To her generosity I owe the portrait 
illustrating this story. The drawing of 
the soaring eagle I owe to the kindness 
of the New York artist and illustrator 
Henry Nappenbach. 

The hill country up there is ideal. 
Lacking are brooks and wells. A sorry 
sight in the woods are the giant chest- 
nut trees. They are dead, leafless skele- 
tons. A mysterious sickness has killed 
these trees all over the U. S. Their 
wood burns up quickly and brightly in 
the stove, but gives very little heat. 
Many sprucetrees and firs up there also 
look dead, their needleleaves redbrown 
like rust. This is the work of the spruce 
budworm, who has caused such wastage 
in the State of Maine, where 25 per 
cent., with a high figure of 60 per cent., 
of all the fir growth in the State has 
been killed, with considerable spruce 
destruction as well. 

A good many summach trees, wild 
cherry trees, elderberry bushes, some 
juniper bushes, especially many aider- 
bushes in groves, birches, nuttrees, oaks, 
sprucetrees. hemlocks, firs, maples and 
American linden trees grow on these 
hills. Wild appletrees I found in many 
places. 



^ 19 Jt 



The uphill road to Rohland's, as far 
as Haile's house, offers splendid view:; 
of the Catskill Mountains, to the right, 
and the Ohio Hill country, to the left. 

Where the road commences to run 
evenly toward the garage, you come at 
the bend to a great oak. The stately 
tree stands at a corner of a hillmeadow. 
Under its circling shady bower grow 
up young cedars and pines, one or the 
other already reaching up to the oak's 
big leafroof. I like that oak. Fine 
trees are good company. They are as 
good company as noble horses or faith- 
ful dogs. They can not run and gambol 
with you, but they stay with you in 
memory and brighten your dreams. I 
give my oak its name, Rohland's Ook. 

I measured the tree's dimensions. The 
straight round trunk up to a height of 

II feet has a circumference of 12 feet. 
There it branches and reaches, from the 
roots to the crown, a height of 45 feet. 
At the branching point the boughs sur- 
round the trunk in a circle like spokes 
of a giant wheel, the lower branches 
having a length of 55 feet ; they form 
a great leafy cupola. The roots do not 
show above ground. The bark of the 
tree is hard as rock and covered with 
a whiteishgreen lichen. It is deeply 
furrowed. My inquiry regarding the 
tree was kindly answered by Mr. H- A. 
Gleason, Assistant Director at the Bronx 
Botanical Garden, New York City, who 
gave me this information: 

New York Botanical Garden. 

Bronx Park. New York City, 

October 22, 1920. 

Mr. William Benignus, 

Woodstock, Ulster Co., N. Y. 

Dear Sir: — 

Replying to your recent inquiry, I 
beg to say that the oak tree, leaves of 
which you submitted to us, is the Red 
Oak. Quercus rubra. This is a native 
of the Northeastern States and is one 
of our largest species of oaks. For a 
tree 12 feet in circumference it is likely 
that the age may be as much as 300 
years. 

The growth upon the bark of the 
tree is a lichen, Parmelia caperata. 

Very truly yours, 

H. A. Gleason, 
Assistant Director. 



I looked, November the 4th, for fresh 
acorns on the ground, but found only 
a few old rotten ones, some loose, some 
still in their big cups. Brown leaves of 
the tree strewed the ground already. I 
received a more accurate description of 
the acorns from the "United States De- 
partment of Agriculture": 

Washington, D. C, 
November 11, 1920. 

The Forester, R. S., 
Distribution Identification. 

Mr. Wm. Benignus, Box 61, 

Woodstock, Ulster Co., N. Y. 

Dear Sir: 

Your letter of November 1, and speci- 
mens, with accompanying descriptive 
notes dated November 7, are received. 
The acorns confirm the previous identi- 
fication of the tree as Red Oak, Quercus 
rubra L. This oak bears an ovate or 
oval shaped a<?orn retained at the base 
and set in a thick, shallow, saucer-shaped 
cup. 

Joseph Kittiedge, Jr. 

Acting Chief of Forest Investigations. 

Rohland's Oak, this majestic tree of 
noble stature and robust growth, stands 
like a part of the mountains themselves, 
stands like them in grand poise, defies 
with them the storms and challenges 
the seasons. The mountains outlast it, 
for mountaintime, treetime and mentime 
are not the same. 

From a small acorn it grew, took root 
in the motherearth, stood upright, firm, 
fixed, stable, worked silenty, patiently, 
rose high and higher, broad and broader. 
strong and stronger till it l'eached its 
present height and stoutness. 

This took time. But the treesoul had 
faith in the Force Who Knows. It wait- 
i (i. it loved th s spot given it to live; to 
grow, to be what it is now, a monarch 
in the solitude of the surrounding coun- 
try. 

This tree, 300 years old, has - 
much happening near him: Tntli 
palefaces, wild animals, fierce fights and 
stormv hours and also peaceful 'lays 
and doings. This oak, drawing from 
the native ground the strength to brave 
all storms and weathers, gives us the 
lesson: "Have personality, individuality! 



<* 20 <£ 



Be yourself! Dont let yourself be sup- 
pressed! Your soul is your own and 
God's only. Do right! With a clean 
conscience stand upright, firm, fearless, 
straight and strong, and look the world 
squarely in the face. Don't, hurry and 
don't worry! Concentrate energy, re- 
serve power, gather vitality. Only de- 
ficiency hurries. Think your tasks out, 
then do them systematically and thoroly, 
one at a time. Build on solid founda- 
tions. Steady! Have faith, soul! Have 
faith! Hold fast!" 



Another lesson the great oak gives us. 
When the wind blows thru its bower, 
with its leavevoices it whispers: "I am 
but a tree. Where the Master of Fate 
put me and ordered me to stand, there 
I root. But you are humans and not 
trees. You have feet and hands and 
muscles and nerves and minds to move 
and act and do things. Dont stand still! 
Be active! Move on, forward, upward, 
lightward" 




Remark. — The picture of this oak is 
from a pen and ink drawing by P. 
Staiger, Stuttgart, who also drew the 
picture of the Mountain Lake, which 
represents the Ebnisee, near Welzheim. 

The picture here is that of the "Bocks- 
eiche" or "Bucks Oak", near Welzheim, 
a small city in an alpine region of 
Wiirttemburg, Germany, which is covered 
by magnificient forests of hemlocks, 
pines, firs, oaks and beeches. These 
forests belong to the "Black Forest" of 
Wurttemberg. Over a great area of 
this forest my grandfather, Wilhelm 
Benignus, Stadtforster in Schorndorf im 
Remstal, was warden and chief forester. 
When I was a boy in Welzheim, 2 Ger- 
man miles up the mountain, I often 
visited him in Schorndorf, where he 
lived on pension in his old age with 
his daughter Marie, my good aunt. In 
his 80th year his eyesight gave out, 
but he still took his accustomed walks 
alone, his big walkingstick in his hand. 
He was a giant in stature. I can still 



see him in his rustbrown coat walking 
along on his promenades with mighty 
strides. His father, my great grand- 
father, was chief geometrician or land 
surveyor of Wurttemberg. My grand- 
father died 1870 at the age of 82 years 
and is interred with his wife, a descend- 
ant of the noble family of the v. Kalt- 
wassers in Silesia, in the city cemetery 
of Schorndorf. My father, Reallehrer 
and Turnlehrer Wilhelm Benignus, died 
1875 in Schorndorf and is buried near 
his parents. 

This big German oak, the Bockseiche, 
near Welzheim, I admired during my 
boyhood days whenever I strolled thru 
the wonderwoods there. The name 
Bucks Oak was given to the tree, be- 
cause the bucks of the wild deer, nu- 
merous there, used to rub their horns 
on the hard bark. The oak is of about 
the same thickness, height and shape 
as "Rohland's Oak", as the picture here 
shows it. It stands dominatingly on a 
hillplateau and is, like the American oak, 
300 years old. 



-j« 21 ^8 



A great White Ash 



Where Main Street makes a bend and 
leads straight on toward Bearsville a 
bridge spans Tannery Brook. Close to 
the street near the bend at the north- 
west corner of Hunt Diederich's house 
there stands on his ground a great White 
Ash Tree. I measured its dimensions. 
The circumference of the trunk up to a 
height of 15 feet is 9 feet, 5V2 inches. 
Up to this height the round trunk is 
evenly formed, then it branches. The 
tree's entire height is 55 feet. The bark 
is of dark grey color, is wavily furrowed, 
and the vertical streaks of the bark, 
from 1 to 2 inches broad, are covered 



with the whitish green lichen Parmelia 
caperata- 

Mr. H. A. Gleason, Assistant Director 
of the "New York Botanical Garden", 
Bronx Park, gave me the information 
(letter of November 4, 1920) that these 
trees grow quite rapidly, and while it 
is very difficult to make estimates as 
to their age, the tree probably is 150 
years old. It is a native American tree 
found commonly thruout the Eastern 
United States and is usually considered 
indicative of a rich soil. Its latin name 
is Fraxinus americana. 

Wm. Benignus. 



Be glad 



Time, — it includes much. It seems to 
consist of intervals, yet flows along un- 
broken and steadily. It sees the birth 
and death of stars and universes, rushes 
on with mighty wings to unknown des- 
tinations. Nobody and nothing can stop 
it. 

We humans measure only some of its 
smallest intervals, such as mountaintime, 
treetime, mentime. Their times are not 
the same. Men wither, trees fall into 
decay, even mountains become weary 
with age. They all vanish. Nothing 
earthly lasts. Everything on earth has 
a beginning, endures for a while, lives, 
loves, enjoys, suffers, passes, has an end. 
And that is good, good as God, in whose 
Eternity hoary Time is swallowed up. 

Forms, which Spirit takes, are chang- 
ing. "Perishable" is written on the 
loaded cars of the freights and express 
trains for Eternity. Let not this dis- 
hearten you, pilgrims! Be not discour- 



aged, souls! We all reach the City of 
Pearls, 'tho many of us very much bat- 
tered and broken up from rough handling 
and cruel bumping on the journey. Be 
assured, we will have glorified bodies, 
stronger, more durable and suitable for 
work, of unassailable health, transfig- 
ured, more beautiful. Virtue our inborn 
nature. I greet you, noble spirits, con- 
genial associates! Our surroundings no 
more repulsive, hindering, injurious, and 
the poisonous, noxious, nasty smells of 
the Earth with her overcrowded, noisy, 
dustfilled cities no more insulting our 
senses. , 

Be glad, travelers! Thou glorious 
light! Thou golden morning! Resur- 
rection! It is a fine thing to rise re- 
freshed and strengthened at the break 
of a new day, to begin over again and 
do better, till we are perfect in the per- 
fectness of the everlasting Spirit. 

, William Benignus. 



& 22 £ 

Time flies 

Night of October the 8th to 9th, 1920 



The Spring, so young, 

the Summer, strong 

with life that ripens fast, 

are gone. Autumn 

with weaker sun 

is here, not long to last. 



The Katydids, 
like playing Kids, 
drum lustily nearby: 
"Katy did!" "Katy didnt!" 
"Katy did!" "Katy didnt!" 
Time is not far 
when, each a star, 
snowflakes begin to fly. 



The Bald Eagle 

Our Country's Bold Emblem 



A Poem dedicated to the Eagle's Defenders: 

Col. Henry W. Shoemaker, Poet, Historian, Collector and Recorder of Legends and 

Folk-lore of Central Pensylvania. 
Dr. W- T. Hornaday, brilliant writer on wild life topics and able conservationist. 
John H. Chatham, the "John Burroughs of the Pennsylvania Mountains". 
Professor Garrett P. Serviss, the eminent Astronomer and Savant of Nature. 



FREEDOM! a grand and sacred name, 

ever dear to you and me. 

You cannot put her in a frame, 

she is grand as air and sea! 

We Freemen rise at her command 

when her strong voice is heai'd, 

she guards with fiery torch the land 

whose emblem is a bird. 



Some judges in Alaska willed 

to chase the eagles hence, 

they pay there for an eagle killed, 

a carcass, fifty cents. 

5000 in a single year, , 

in 1917, 

were slaughtered thus, so we did hear, 

wherever thev were seen. 



Look! Do you see that bird sedate 

outlined against the sky? 

In majesty an eagle great 

in cloudland climbing high! 

The Light its love, the Sun its bliss. 

Aye, FREEDOM,— sacred name!—, 

embodied bv this EAGLE is, 

OUR COUNTRY'S BOLD EMBLEM! 



Alaska is the bird's last home, 

none other find it may. 

Well, even if it's troublesome 

i-q farmers, let it stay! 

Don't chas" and kill this spirit free, 

our Country's bold emblem, 

else Freedom, dear to you and me, 

will soon be — but a name. 

W. Benignus. 



Good to hear 



NEW LONDON, Conn., Dec. 3, 1920.— 
A young bald eagle, unexpectedly caught 
in a trap, is being nursed back to health 
from its injuries by John Whittle, of 
Mystic, who follows trapping as a fad. 

The bird was not badly hurt, and, 



after considerable difficulty, was taken 
by Mr. Whittle to his home, where it is 
.confined in a coop until its injuries are 
repaired, after which the eagle will be 
liberated. The bird is a fine specimen, 
having a wing spread of over fifty inches. 



c$* LtO «^* 

By two Oceans guarded 

Words for a National Song. — By William Benignus 

Sincerely dedicated to 

President-elect Warren G. Harding, 

who will endeavor to be 

"on the square with all the American people" 




Music to be simple, but powerful an 
victorious, brisk with enthusiasm. To 
be sung by single voice or great 
chorus. 



By two Oceans guarded, as by God's own hand, 
basks in peace and plenty our beloved land. 
Kind to every nation on this whole wide Earth, 
thus we rest securely, God's great blessings worth. 

Helpers, when the others are in sore distress, 

let us be forever, let us give and bless. 

For we are God's Children, Children of the Light, 

grateful that He guards us with two Oceans' might. 

But if enemies threaten, plotting to attack, 

let us wield our weapons, shield our breast and back; 

manfully we battle, strive by land and sea 

to defend our Country's sacred liberty. 

Wave, Starspangled Banner, over our fighters' throng! 
E Pluribus Unum is our Motto strong! 
Lead us, glorious banner, lead to victory! 
Wave in winds of heaven over people free! 



£ 24 <£ 

An Eagle soars 

An Eagle soars with majestic flight 
over mountaintops in the morninglight, 
his cry rings loud in ecstacy, 
he mounts in spirals, sunward, free. 



Camping in the Mount ainwoods 

Dedicated in a free spirit to "Romany Mary" 

I slept in the woods in a tent alone, 

when the wind flapped high the side, 

the stars they glistened and glittered and shone 

in the skysea deep and wide, 

and they all seemed so sure their way to find, 

for their Admiral Grand was the Mastermind. 

A wild fox cried in the forestdepth, 

a porcupine grunted near, 

an owl, as if a lost soul wept, 

its spectral voice let hear, 

and my heart was happy and I felt fine 

as if I had drunk God's nectarwine. 



Westwindclouds and Sunrays playing on the 
Overlook Mountains 

Grey clouds were moving overhead, 

suppliers of life's fountains, 

throwing their shadows down in glad 

fast sweeps upon the mountains, 

when suddenly the sunrays broke 

thru them, as with a swordblade's stroke, 

and, joy!, of golden light a patch, 

that seemed a running deer to catch 

or some grand game upon behests, 

hushed over the mountains' heads and breasts. 

Afternoon of October 20, 1920. 



White Mists joining Grey Clouds 

Just see! How grandly mists arise! 

They are waterspirits, as I surmise. 

Between Mead's Mountain and Overlook, 

from ravines, where their birth they took, 

they stretch long arms up to the sky, 

where slowly fields of clouds pass by 

who pull them up from the forestgreen 

till only two more shapes are seen, 

two snowwhite ones. High up they reach, 

and arms stretch down from the clouds' airbeach. 

Up, up they go!, in the grey are lost, 

they have joined the wandering clouds great host. 



S 25 & 

The Mountainlake 

Evening Song. — By William Benignus 

Sincerely dedicated to 

Senator Joseph Irwin France, of Maryland 




On silent heights a lake, adream, 

reflects the parting light, 

the mountaintops in splendor gleam 

like fiery gold so bright. 

A little songbird sings its best 

of perfect peace and sweetest rest. 

To darkening woods the breezes roam, 

hide with a sighing sound, 

the world below the starry dome 

to sleep drops all around- 
Like angelgreeting, far away, 
the songbird sings its peaceful lay. 



<5^J[j^> 



Joseph Irwin France, Maryland, 
Chairman. 

United States Senate, 

Committee on 

Public Health & National Quarantine 

July 20, 1920 

Mr. Wilhelm Benignus, 

330 E. 69th Str., N. Y. City. 

My dear Mr. Benignus: 

Upon return to my office after a much- 
needed vaction and rest following the 
adjournment of Congress and the Chi- 
cago convention, I am very pleased to 
find your letters of the 2nd and 6th a- 
waiting me here. 

The beautiful postcard portraying 
your "heart's wish for years", the 
natural and picturesque "Shawangunk 
Mountain Stories", and the idealistic 
songs which you enclosed I highly ap- 
preciate. All these help me to under- 
stand your letters better, and make me 



feel that the love of the great out-of- 
doors, where truest freedom dwells, is 
really the guiding impulse of your life. 

I want to tell you how much I en- 
joyed "The Mountain Lake", the even- 
ing song which you honor me by dedicat- 
ing to my name. Its lines breathe of 
the coolness of the dark forests, and the 
mountain waters, and is very refreshing 
to read on a hot summer's day in Wash- 
ington. To my judgment, your choice 
of words is most beautiful and onomato- 
poetic. 

Personally, I shall support the Repub- 
lican ticket, as I feel that under the ad- 
ministration of Harding and Coolidge, 
which now seems assured, the liberties 
of the people will be much more faith- 
fully preserved than they have been un- 
der the present administration. 

, „ Yours sincerely, 

Signed: Jos. I. France 

PDH 



<£ 26 <£ 



The Fairy of the Tigerlilies 

To the Painting by Agnes Tait 
"Rohland's Camp", Eearsville, Ulster Co., N. Y., August 1920 

Sound. — By William Benignus 

The greenwoods slumber and the Catskills dream. 
The mountaingiants with their soft contours 
soon are enwrapped in mist's or rain's velours, 
soon in clear skits their heights in splendor gleam 

A Fairy dwells here, where sweet peace allures. 
Her wistful eyes of brown like deep pools seem, 
upon whose surfaces the sunrays beam 
and dip and dive for beauty which endures 

Wild Tigerlilies grow abundant there, 

and mystic powers and witchery everywhere 

enfold the wanderer and take hold of him. 

The world's fierce turmoil echoes here but dim. 
The Catskills dream, the greenwoods are ahush, 
its perfect lay sings goldenly a thrush. 



Song of the Errand Knight 



Oft I wandered thru valleys 
where horrors engulfed and night, 
grimly advanced against me 
Destruction and deadly Fright. 



Ghosts of the abyss threatened, 
gnashed their gleaming teeth, 
hellworms and snakes were hissing, 
crawling before my feet. 



Fierce fiends were lurking, 
their staring eyes hatefully glowed, 
silent, purepurposed and steady, 
not minding them on I rode. 



Schlaf wohl, mein Briiderlein! 

"Was ist' das Menschenleben? 
Kdmpfen, Leiden und Sterben!" 

Mein Bruder Dr. Siegfried Emit Benignus, geb. in Heilbronn am Neckar, 1865, 
war Forschungsreisender und zuletzt Lehrer an der Berliner Handelsschule. Durch 
Entbehrungen wahrend des Kriegs widerstandsunfahig gemacht, raffte ihn eine 
tiickische Krankheit nach dreitagigem Ringen und Leiden am 8. Juli 1918 dahin. 
Er ist auf dem jSerliner Sophienfriedhof, in der Bergstrasse, beerdigt. 



Schlaf wohl, mein Briiderlein! 

Du gingst zur Ruhe ein. 

Ruh sanft, du tapfer Streiter! 

Ich kampf in Treue noch, 

in Not und Stiirmen heiter 

halt ich Schonheit und Freiheit hoch. 

Wir lebten und wir liebten 

in Jahren, die verfahlt, 

gar viel von Leid durchsiebten, 

doch auch goldlichtdurchstrahlt. 



Schlaf wohl, mein Briiderlein! 

Ach, mein Herzbruderlein ! 

Eya, mein Herz mocht brechen, 

wenn ich an dich denk, 

drin ist's wie scharfes Stechen, 

wenn ich an dich denk. 

Die Tranen rinnen mir nieder 

heiss und ungezahlt. 

Schlaf wohl! Wir sehn uns wieder 

in einer andern Welt. 



Meines Bruders Werk liegt auf in der "New York Public Library", 5. Ave. und 
42. Street: "In Chile, Patagonien ^(.nd auf Feuerland". Ergebnisse mehrjatiriger 
Studien und Reisen. Von Dr. Siegfried Benignus. — Verlag G. Reimer, Berlin, 1912. 



«£ 27 <£ 



Ein Adler schwebt 

Ein Adler schwebt im Morgenlicht, 
das Gold urn die Kuppen der Berge flicht, 
er griisst das Leuchten mit schrillem Schrei, 
in Spiralen steigt er, sonnenwarts, frei. 



O du glanzendes Liclit 



Siehst du, wie herrlich der Morgen anbricht? 

O du glanzendes Licht, du seliges Licht! 

In Erkenntnis erwache! Im gottlichen Glauben 

schwing dich adlergleich auf aus dem irdischen Stauben! 



By own experiences only 

Man gains wisdom and knowledge by finds God, the Spirit of Spirits, who is 

own experiences only. To gain superior Life and Love, 
knowledge he must struggle with his 

own self, like Jacob with the Angel. He Your Fate? You are your Fate, 

must go thru purgatories of earthly ex- Your Future? You are your Future, 

istence before he finds himself and knows Fate is inexorable. Love and Mercy are 

who and what God is, and before he the Godspirits of your salvation. 



Prayer 

Prayer, in concentration of thought, and work, thus making life and work 

is ''communion of your soul with your a confirmation of prayer. 
Self and with God'', thereby finding your If / am, God is. If God is, / am. 

higher Self and cleansing your soul There shall be no slavery and mastery 

from things earthly. Your task and between Man and God, there must be 

endeavor shall be to verify this in life unity. 



Stormswept Forest 

I wandered thru a stormswept forest, 
the treetops reeled, fast rocked the bower, 
the stormcalls in the rocking forest 
rang loud, like calls from watchman's tower. 

The grand treevoices swelled the chorus 
while fierce in haste the storm rushed by, 
like organpe-als the mighty chorus 
of myriad voices swelled on high. 

I listened, silently responding, 
and felt my soul on wings arise, 
I heard the royal palms responding 
in paradise, in paradise. 

William Benignus 



«*5* £o *& 




From photo, copyright by Louis E. Jones, by permission 

Iii the Catskills, Woodstock, Ulster Co., N. Y. 

The great Ashokan Reservoir receives its supply of pure water 
from these Catskill Mountain Ranges. 



A Trip 
around the Ashokan Eeservoir 



Woodstock Story No. 7 
By William Benignus 



The Ashokan Reservoir can easily be 
approached by excellent highways via 
Kingston, Saugerties and Woodsock. It 
can be reached from Kingston by the 
New State Road, from Saugerties by 
the Saugerties Road and from Woodstock 
in the opposite direction by the same 
Saugerties Road which branches off to 
the right towards the Reservoir at the 
"Saugerties Hotel". 

From Woodstock the Ashokan Reser- 
voir can also be reached by the highway 
which leads thru the villages Bearsville, 
Shady and Mount Tremper in a big, 
winding detour. 

Sunday, October the 24th, 1920, was 
an Indian Summer Day of perfect beauty. 
A note was brought to me by Agnes and 



Hans, the children of my friend Eugen 
Schleicher : 

"Lieber Herr Benignus. — Ich habe also 
das Automobil bestellt und wird es halb 
2 Uhr (half past one) da sein. Machen 
Sie sich also um diese Zeit sprungbereit." 
— Eu. Schleicher. 

Mr. Schleicher himself could not go, 
because little Carl, his youngest child, 
was not quite well and he had to stay 
at home with him. I was ready at the 
right time and we started, a party of 
expectant people: Mrs. Minna Schleicher 
with her children Agnes and Hans, Mr. 
Eugen Haile, the musical genius and 
composer of songs and operas, with his 
wife Elise and, not to forget, their pet 
dog, elegant deerbrown Bobby, at 2 p.m. 



£ 29 3* 



from Woodstock in one of Mr. Longyears 
autos, the chauffeur par excellence being- 
Mr. Richard Reynolds. He did not know 
that he had in his auto quite distin- 
guished passengers. It was a genuine 
load of Schwaben which he took along 
on this their memorable pleasuretrip, for 
Mrs. Schleicher, a sister of the composer 
Haile, hails from Ulm, Wiirttemberg, a 
city at the renowned river Donau and 
well known by its "Ulmer-Munster" and 
the "Schneider von Ulm", also by its 
"Spatzen" of which there are different 
kinds. Ulmer Spatzen are also Mr. 
Schleicher and Mr. and Mrs. Haile, while 
I do not deny to hail from Heilbronn- 
am-Neckar, where a good many people 
have red noses from the tasty wine 
there which is called "Heilbronner". 

On the straight highway we rode to 
Bearsville, crossed the Sawkill Bridge 
to the left, then turned to the right to- 
wards Shady, the village, where we ar- 
rived soon. P'rom Shady a road leads 
to Pine Hill, 23 miles distant, where the 
New York silk merchant Mr. Theodore 
Michel owns a large tract of hillcountiw, 
on his estate being many fine summer- 
houses and bungalows for the comfort 
of Catskill Visitors during the warm 
season. 

On we swung in a big bow, passed 
Lake Hill Village, then Willow Village 
to the right, then Mount Tremper Vil- 
lage, crossed the Esopus Bridge, came 
soon to the Reservoir, autoed across the 
Million Dollar Bridge, swung to the 
Dam and to the Aerating Plant, rode a 
long while on the Ashokan Boulevard, 
the Reservoir always to our left, swung 
towards the Kingston Road, came to 
West Hurley, at the New State Road, 
swung to the right into the Woodstock 
Road, came into the Saugerties Road 
opposite the Saugerties Hotel and were, 
in a few minutes, back in Woodstock at 
5 p. m. 

This roundtrip from Woodstock thru 
Shady and farther on was delightfully 
picturesque. Forest- and meadowbrooks 
ran with busy efficacy merrily over their 
pebbly and rockstrewn beds, soon to the 
left, soon to the right of the road which 
the auto took smoothly and quickly. 

The rural land, till we came to Trem- 
per, was attractively interesting, but 
naturally by its mountainous character 
and rocky ground it is poor for grain- 
farming and better suited for pastoring 
of cattle, sheep and goats. 



The blithe, exhilarating sunwarm air 
of this Indian Summer Day made living 
a delight. On quiet pools of the numer- 
ous creeks and brooks floated in golden 
patches fallen leaves. On appletrees 
near the road, all their leaves dropped 
glowed on the loaden branches their 
paradisal fruits in rose, carmine and 
sunyellow. Clumps of elderberry bushes, 
fringing the byways, still bore their 
black berries. In front of a pretty little 
white cottage a rowantreei, bare of 
leaves, decoratively displayed its scarlet 
berrybunches to us. 

Graceful Cosmos were shining on long 
slender stems, white ones and lilac ones, 
the starflowers of autumn, — alas! they 
wither in the first frost. Chrysanthe- 
mums bloomed princely fair, the queen- 
flowers of the fallseason, that easily 
stand the first and second frost. The 
tonic of the summer was ended. The 
tunes rang out in a final cadence of 
drenching sweetness and glory. 

Those shady, peaceruled f orestlanes ! 
and the open stretches with the Catskill 
Mountains ever visible, protecting the 
valleys at their feet. One of the most 
lovely scenes on such an open stretch 
offers the valley of Willow Village, its 
houses like playthings scattered in the 
green, its little white church with the 
typical tower ever prominent and in- 
viting, while behind, outlined against 
the sky, the mountains in a solid row 
rear up their masses. Autos, filled with 
sightseeing tourists, passed us to and 
fro, seldom a horseteam. 

As we rushed by, to both sides of the 
road desirably situated summerhouses, 
bungalows, cottages, camps showed up. 
One of these dwellings was so pretty 
that it evoked from Haile the ejacula- 
tion: "Gucket amol do, Elies und Benig- 
nus! Gucket amol do! Ischt dees a 
netts Hausle am a Biichle dort! So eins 
hatt i gern!" "I au!"— I replied. As we 
neared Tremper a jolly party of pick- 
nickers, just starting at their luncheon, 
spread in the open upon a table covered 
with a white tablecloth in front of a 
cottage, waved us friendly greetings and 
Bobby replied to their "Hoohoos!" with 
his original "Wow! Wow! Wow!" Young 
athletic folks wer playing cricket on 
the lawn near a big boardinghouse, a 
young lady watching them, her rich 
hair like waves of silken fire framing 
her winning face. Just before we 
reached Tremper the road branched off 



^ 30 ^ 



towards the right to Pine Hill. Haile, 
always of a humorous turn of mind, 
here let loose the classical remark: 
"Maybe, by and by, it will be all right. 
We come soon now to the Reservoir." 
Whereupon Mrs. Schleicher in surprise 
approbriately replied: "Jo, hor!" And 
the writer of this story sighed resign- 
edly: "O God!" And again he sighed, 
kind of astonished: "6 Lord!" Mr. 
Schleicher told me later on that I did 
say so. I could hardly believe it. With- 
out his pointed hint I wouldn't have 
even "know'd" it. Later on, when I 
related this conversation to Mrs. Marish- 
ka Diederich, she commented hastily 
upon it with: "Grossartig! But its all 
perfectly - comical ! Everything is com- 
ical! The whole world is comical!" 

Well, we kept straight on, the broad, 
evenly running Esopus Brook or Esopus 
Creek to our right. Oh you mountain- 
brooks, how my heart loves you! On 
this day the waters of the brook ran, 
scarcely high 2 feet, in rippling quick 
foaming wavelets over their pebbly bed- 
A few turns of the wheels and on the 
outskirts of Tremper we crossed the 
low Esopus Bridge, and soon, as Haile 
had presaged, the azureblue mirroring 
waters of the Ashokan Reservoir shim- 
mered to our left in the sunlight and 
we entered the realms of fairie and of 
perpetual youth. 

We came to the famous Million Dollar 
Bridge, properly called Tavern Hollow 
Bridge, for it is built high over the 
Tavern Hollow Creek. This concrete 
bridge is a modern architectural wonder. 
Our auto stopped in the middle of the 
bridge and we stepped out and looked 
over both banisters down into the deep 
chasm at whose bottom, 200 feet below, 
the Tavern Hollow Creek winds dreamily 
to its destination, adding its flood to 
the big basin. High forest trees, rising 
unon the inclined ground to both sides 
of the brook, glowed in the glorious tints 
of autumn, their tops, touching in close 
proximitv so far below us, forming a 
colororchestra that sang symphonically 
with tone-ues of flame the final chord of 
the year's beauty. 

After we had passed the Million Dol- 
lar Bridge an incomparably impressive 
panorama of the Catskill Mountains to 
our right opened upon our sight. In a 
half circle these powerful giants guarded 
the waters of the big basin. Opposite 



them, across the basin, another long 
range of mountains rose, the same that 
ended at Woodstock with Overlook Moun- 
tain. How powerful these forestcovered 
giants looked! So proudly they held up 
their round heads to the glorious after - 
noonsky. 

Here they reposed, circling the valleys, 
Traced at their posts like soldiers on 
duty by the magician Time. In cosmic 
grandeur the mighty fellows rested. But 
even while resting they were active for 
the good of men and many creatures, 
from their vast, benevolent hearts ever 
streaming the lifefluid Water, whose 
restless, ever wandering, ever changing 
spirits appear to us as brooks, rivers, 
lakes, oceans, mists, clouds. 

Here they reposed and rested, massive, 
imposing, these Giants of the Ages. One 
mighty Titan in the front won my spec- 
ial admiration. Grandly on watch, a 
guardian of the passes, he lay there 
with his heavy weight. He guards the 
inroads to this fairyland of New York 
State, where wondrous portals open 
vn'de. It s r ems to me as if many won- 
ders and treasures of all kinds can be 
found by adventourous souls daring to 
invade and explore these enchanted 
r^e-ions, which now, in the light of the 
sinking sun, were bathed in a fine, pearly 
aerial haze, as if covered by a trans- 
parent silverveil which the Spirits of 
Evening had tenderly dropped on them. 

Wq went abead leisurely, came to the 
Ashokan Bridge and stopped at the 
Aerating Plant, with Aerator and Screen 
^hcnn^^r. Here the waters, before be- 
ing- allowed to flow to New York City, 
comr>res?ed and eiected in a cleansing 
nrocess gush up and nearl in fairy foun- 
tains, mount and sink in fine, snowwhite 
showers continually, while a curving 
rainbow, created by the sunrays, beaut- 
ifies their unceasing, active work and 
fascinating play. 

The road from there to Woodstock, 
while the Reservoir and the Mountains 
across were ever to our left, offered 
many fine views, till while we neared 
Woodstock, one of my best beloved, the 
Overlook Range, came in sight. It was 
not long till we autoed into Main Street, 
turned into the Rock City Road and 
ended our enjoyable roundtrip in front 
of Mr. Schleicher's house. 



£ 31 <£ 

The Ashokan Reservoir 
and the Catskill Mountain Acqueduct 



Ashokan is an Indian name and sig- 
nifies Place of Fish. 

The great Ashokan Reservoir receives 
its waters thru creeks or brooks which 
flow from the breasts of the surrounding- 
mountains of the Catskill Range, open 
toward Kingston, N. Y. To name a 
few: Wittenburg, Cornell and Slide 
Mountains, High Point, South Mountain, 
Torrens Hook, Mount Ticetonyk and 
Little Tontshi, the latter three visible 
from the Ashokan Bridge over the 
Dividing Weir, Indian Head, Round Top, 
Mead's Mountain or "The Sentinel" and 
Overlook Mountain, these ltater two be 
longing to the Overlook Range, at whose 
foot the villages Bearsville, Woodstock 
with Rock City and Birdcliff, Saugcr- 
ties and, farther off, West Hurley, and 
Maeverick are situated, while Overlook 
Mountain, farthest east, points its rocky 
nose towards the Hudson River. 

The Ashokan Reservoir, which supplies 
New York City with pure water, is 610 
feet above sea level. A forty-mile high- 
way or parkway encircles the Reservoir, 
which is 12 miles long and 3 miles wide 
and holds 120,000,000 gallons. The 
shore line is 40 miles, with 10 concrete 
bridges, amongst them the Ashokan 
Bridge, which crosses the Reservoir at 
the dividing weir, is 1,120 feet long and 
has 15 arches of 67,5 span. Chief En- 
gineer is I. Waldo Smith. Another one 
of these 10 bridges is the Esopus Bridge, 
under which the Esopus Creek flows 
toward the Dam. The view above the 
Ashokan Reservoir with the bridge in 
front, is one of the fairest. When tour- 
ing around the Reservoir it is worth 
while to stop on the Million Dollar 
Bridge, or better called Tavern Holloiv 
Bridge. Far below, 200 feet, thru the 
hollow or chasm flows the Tavern Hol- 
low Creek. Worth to be seen are the 
Olive Bridge Dam, showing Esopus Can- 
yon, and a look over the Spillway of the 



Reservoir, where the surplus water run? 
off. 

The water, before it leaves the Reser- 
voir, is cleansed by an Aereator. Thru 
1600 nozzles it is thrown into the air 
in a fine spray,, taking up an admixture 
of oxygen from the atmosphere, while 
unhealthy gases and undesirable mater- 
ial are removed. 

Four creeks constitute the main sour- 
ces of the water supply: The Esopus, 
Rondout, Schoharie and Catskill. The 
total area of the enth'e watershed is 
over 900 square miles. The water area 
is 8,100 acres, maximum depth 190 feet, 
average depth 50 feet. The city owns 
15,222 acres. The supply in Catskill 

water to New York City is about 500,- 
000,000 gallons daily, which flow to the 
city thru the big main, a distance of 
120 miles. On the way four large lakes 
are formed, filled with the purest water. 

From its height in the mountains the 
conduit sinks under the rivers to a depth 
of 1114 feet below the sea, breaks thru 
the solid rock of Manhattan Island and 
distributes the precious water in abun- 
dance to every dwelling of New York 
City. The natural pressure lifts the 
water to the 12th story. It was neces- 
sary to bore the tunnel under the city 
thru solid rock to a depth of 300 to 
800 fe-t. The cost of the great Ashokan 
Reservoir was S30.000,000. The cost of 
the whole, Catskill system, including 
Schohaiie and Kensico Reservoirs, was 
$177,000,000. 

The work on the Reservoir began 1903 
and was completed 1915. The work on 
the Acqueduct began 1905 and was com- 
pleted 1917. 

The Ashokan Resovoir and the Cats- 
kill Acqueduct are heroic deeds of citi- 
zen's pride, of scientific genius and of 
sacrificing work. 




«<?* odt <£* 



New York State my best beloved State 



During my travels I have seen many 
States of the Union, but New York State 
with its mountains, brooks, rivers, 
cateracts, lakes and Atlantic coasts, with 
its fruit and berry-belts, its woodlands 
and grainlands and grapecountries and 
hopcountries, its cities, villages and live 
people ^s my best beloved State. 

On the 29th of October 1918 I saw 
in the Catskills the Redwings fly south- 
ward. In 1920 they winged their flight 
south over Woodstock, on the 3rd of 
November. The autumn of 1920 was 
exceptionally mild. Near Milton, Marl- 



boro and Newburgh, Ulster Co., N. Y., 
they were picking some ripe strawberries 
in November. And from Syracuse, N.Y., 
Nov. 18th, was reported: They are pick- 
ing white lilacs at Montville. Pansies 
are blooming at Liverpool. Violets are 
flowering at Ithaca. Robins are still 
pecking at the grapes at Cardiff, where 
the Cardiff Giant was disinterred. Red 
raspberries are yielding in Syracuse. 
Columbia berries are being picked at 
Baldwinsville. They are getting ready 
at Clay to make a new batch of dande- 
lion wine. — W. B. 



Two Fairytales for Kuku 

Dedicated respectfully 
to Kuku's Grandma, Mrs. Eleonore Hunt Diederich 



Kuku and the Waterbabies 
A Fairytale of Overlook Mountain 



Woodstock Story No. 8 
By William Benignus 



One day the autobus did not come a- 
long to take Kukd to school. The school 
is quite a way off, along the Rock City 
Road a mile and a half up the mountain 
where it is built right in the middle of 
the woods, which makes it healthy and 
pleasant for children. 

So what could Kuku do, but walk to 
school, and as she was yet a little girl, 
— just think of it! she celebrated her 
birthday a few days ago, when she be- 
came 4^ years old — , I of course had 
to accompany her. 

Walking up the road on that fine 
October day we came to a brooklet which 
ran and babbled merrily downhill and 
passed under a short bridge that span 
the road. Kuku stopped on the bridge, 
looked up the brook and said : "Can you 
see that little tiny waterfall?" "Surely", 
said I. "Isn't that little waterfall cun- 
ning?", said Kuku. A little house stood 
farther up near the running waters. 
"Would you like to live in that little 
house?" said Kuku. "Surely", said I. 
"With vines around on the little win- 
dows", said Kuku. "And with all kinds 



of beautiful flowers and fruittrees in 
the garden," said I, "and the birds sing- 
ing upon he branches and hopping 
around on the ground." "Let's go up", 
said Kuku. And we went up. 

When we knocked at the door it 
opened and who do you think came out! 
The beautiful Fairy of the Brook! And 
she smiled and gave her milkwhite hand 
to Kuku and to me and greeted us 
graciously. "How do you do, little girl, 
darling Kuku?" she said — " I am quite 
glad to see you. I heard from your 
teacher that you are a bright little girl 
and can already do figuring and make 
drawings of houses and things. Come 
in, friends, and see my Waterbabies and 
have a little lunch before you walk 
farther on." 

And what do you think we saw when 
we went into the house! Well, well! a 
dozen Waterbabies, perfectly sweet little 
elves, were playing with soapbubbles of 
glowing rainbowcolors, and the breezes 
blew the bubbles out thru the open back- 
door into the garden. It was a big 
garden thru which the brooklet splashed 
with many little tiny waterfalls, and 



«5* 33 «*?* 



seemed to rest and dream in little pebbly 
pools, then flowed on again and babbled 
and sang, and little gold - and silver- 
fishies swam in the clear waters, and 
fairyflowers grew all around, and on 
the trees were hanging ripe fruits that 
glittered like diamonds, and from the 
vines hung big bunches of ripe grapes, 
and from the branches sang all kinds of 
wonderbirds, and soft, aromatic breezes 
blew, and joy was in the air and peace. 
We had lots of fun! The Waterbabies 
and we two chased the rainbowbubbles, 
and played in the brooklet, and danced 
and splashed around, and made all kinds 
of merry noise, and shouted and laughed 
and sang, and caught little gold- and 
silverfi shies, and then we sprang and 
jumped around in the garden, and picked 
delicious berries, and plucked mellow, 



juicy fruits, and everything tasted bet- 
ter than anything you know, better than 
the best chocolatecandy, and the won- 
derbirds hopped around and flew around 
us singing, and they perched upon our 
shoulders and ate seeds from our hands 
which the fairy gave us, and then we 
had a delightful lunch with the best 
milk and cream and finest cakes and 
pies, all served to us by dainty, queer 
little elves and goblins, and we were 
happy, and when we left and thanked 
the good Fairy and bid goodbye to her 
and her dear, sweet little Waterbabies, 
she gave each one of us two a little 
shiny silverstar for good luck and as 
a souvenir and said affectionately: 
"Goodbye, my dears! Goodbye, Kuku 
darling! Call again! You are always 
welcome!" 



The Man who holds 
the Mountains on his Arm 



Woodstock Story No_ 9 
By Wm. Benignus 




Drawing by Kuku 



Considering Kuku's Drawing, done by 
her in a sunny hour in the open so 
spontaneously and without preliminary 
preparation on the inspiration of the 
moment, into my mind come the words 
•of the psalmist (Psalm VIII): "0 Lord 



our Lord, how excellent is Thy name in 
all the earth! who hast set thy glory 
above the heavens. Out of the mouths 
of babes and sucklings hast Thou or- 
dained strength." And the words of 
the immortal Ralph Waldo Emerson 



54 <£ 



flame up before me ("Nature", Chapter 
VI) : "Worlds revolve and intermingle 
without number or end, . deep yawning 
under deep, and galaxy balancing galaxy, 
thruout absolute space." 

On a fine September day, while I was 
doing some work in the garden, I talked 
with Kuku about the sun and the moun- 
tains. Kuku was busy with paper and 
pencil, and she at once drew this picture 
and surprised me with it, saying wist- 
fully: "Mr. Benignus, that is you." I 
at once conceived the idea to unfold and 
express Kuku's thoughts in the tale 
here : 

"Long, long ago it rained incessantly 
and the Earth was covered with water, 
so that even the highest mountains could 
not show their tops above it. The sky 
was black with heavy clouds, it rained 
and rained, fierce thunders rolled, blue 
lightnings flashed and lit up occasionally 
the tumultuously raging sea of giant- 
waves, while but seldom cheerful sun- 
light broke thru the darkness. 

That time Patriarch Noah and his 
wife and sons and daughters and their 
children floated many many days and 
nights in the big Ark which Noah and 
his sons had built before the rains and 
floods came and in which its builders 
then took refuge. Besides his own folks 
Noah had taken with him into the Ark 
all the animals, pair by pair, which 
little girls and boys know so well from 
their toyarks. Men and creatures in 
the Ark floated such a long time upon 
the bosom of the waters that they be- 
came weary of it, and all wanted to 
walk on dry ground again and enjoy 
life and bask in the sunshine. So Noah 
said: "Let us pray, that the rains may 
cease." And they prayed, and the good 
Lord God heard them, had pity on them 
and spoke: "Be of good cheer! I will 
send my Strong Man, the Mem who holds 
the Mountains on his Arm, to help you 
out of your difficulties." And the good 
Lord God called aloud, and the big 
Strong Man heard him in his dwelling 
on ever so big a sun far, far away, far 
and away beyond in the blackness of 
infinite space deeps. At one? the Titan 
started and jumped from star to star, 
till he reached the Earthstar, where 
everything was covered with water. Oh, 
he was monstrously and powerfully big 



and strong, the Big Man! Bigger he 
was than all the mountains, and stronger 
he was than all the winds and waves 
and elements that battled so fiercely 
with each other. 

When the Big Man reached the Earth, 
he cried with a voice that roared like 
the tumbling waters of a hundred 
million cataracts: "I will do it!!!" And 
he stretched out his left arm and began 
to lift. That was an arm, I tell you!, 
with muscles. With muscles of the 
spirit, oh! And he began to lift. And 
he lifted the mountains out of the deep 
abysms of the turbulent sea just as easy 
as if he lifted feathers, I tell you! He 
lifted whole rows of mountains high 
above the billows, so that the wet tops 
and sides glistened in the sun, and soon 
they were covered with rich vegetation. 
Noah and his people saw this, and with 
all the animals, pair by pair, they 
walked out of the Ark upon dry land 
and thanked the good Lord God for 
their delivery and were happy at heart. 

Amongst the mountains which the 
Big Man lifted out of the deep waters 
were also the Catskill Mountains with 
the Overlook Range, at whose foot the 
village of Woodstock nestles." 

If you look at Kuku's picture you no- 
tice how the Big Man holds on his left 
arm the mountains. In his right hand 
he holds the sun with its golden glory 
and the moon with its shimmer and 
sheen. A little higher up floats a ship 
of space, one of those which in the fu- 
ture, when the time of our Earth has 
come, will carry humans to another 
habitable star. Over the Titan's head 
elows this star. In his right hand he 
holds, that the Earth may become dry 
after all the rains and deluges, our 
radiant dayorb, the sun, one of the vast 
congeries of three thousand million suns 
within our universe, where boundary in 
space seems to be the external limit of 
the ga s axy or Milky Way. 

With his right hand the Man who 
holds the Mountains on his Arm points 
to a bridge with a gate to a garden "on 
the other side". Well, that sun is "the 
Rising Sun of the Future", when this 
old Earth shall be new again. The 
bridge leads across the sky and thru 
regions of the spheres to a great Golden 
City with pearlgates and magnificent 



J» 35 J* 

gardens. The city is the "City 0/ Bliss", We shall have happy homes there and 
and the gardens are the "Paradise Gar- not dwell in idleness, but with busy and 
dens". active minds we shall continue and ac- 
We all must cross that bridge some- complish the works most dear to us, 
time, and we all will enter the "Golden which we have commenced on the Earth- 
City" and walk in the "Gardens of Light" star and could not finish, because "men's 
to enjoy their beauties and wonders. time is so short". 



Baby William Hunt 

Slumber Song. — By William Benignus 

Be still, my darling, baby mine! 
Listen ! upon yon tree 
a wonderbird from paradise 
sings a sweet melody. 

The bird's plumage is morning gold, 
red, yellow, green and blue. 
Listen! it sings a lulaby, 
my loveheart dear, to you: 

"Sleep, darling, sleep! Sleep, baby mine! 
The stars are shining bright, 
and seven fleecy silverclouds 
sail on the sky. Good night!" 



Baby Ellen 

Dedicated sincerely to Mrs. Sarah Living s£one-Mundhenk 

An angel clasps his silverlute, 
he came from God on high 
and sings to thee, my Babylee, 
a whispered lulaby: 

"Slumber sweetly, Babylee! 
Slumber, Loveheart dear! 
Mother guards her Babylee 
and is ever near. 
1 Sleep now, Babylee, 
gem of mother's heart! 
Sleep, my darling Babylee, 
love's rosebud that thou art!" 



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Lulaby 



The Mother sings: 



"Sleep, my child. The wind blows by, 
whirls about the leaves so dry, 
sends them with a sound that thrills 
far across the vales and hills. 
Whirled by winds the leaves now fly — 
Sleep, my child. The wind blows by. 

"Softly sleep, dear child, tonight. 
Summer went with flowers bright. 
And the birds all ! gone they are 
to their southern home, so far. 
Summer went with flowers bright — 
Softly sleep, dear child, tonight. 

"Go to sleep, my baby fair. 
Give you pearls and jewels rare — 
all be thine, baby mine,, 
spotless treasures pure and fine. 
Give you pearls and jewels rare — 
Go to sleep, my baby fair." 



Stargemmed Night 

Woodstock, Ulster Co., N. Y '., night of October 8th to 9th, 1920. 



Oh look, how clear, 

so far, so near, 

the sparkling skystars greet. 

They seem to stand 

over sea and land 

and yet sail fast and fleet. 



A flower unfurled 

each star, a world 

that swings thru ' space immense 

and seeks its goal — ■ 

a longing soul 

is traveling with it hence. 



Far 

Suggested by the Painting of Mark Tobey 

Deeply in shadows the wide world lays, 

a late bird soars by, a wandering soul, homeing, 

— in realms of the Spirit my lone soul stays, 

with the swift bird in flight to far distances roaming. 

High across valleys, over mountains it goes, 
thru space, to the City with Golden Gates, 
— a bright lone star on the blue sky shows 
the way to the goal where my soulmate waits. 



d5* o ( ^* 



Tlie girl with the nu thrown hair. — Song 

I love the girl with the nutbrown hair, 
she is my beauty dear, 
she is so sprightly, she is so fair, 
none to my heart is so near. 

As the soft touch of a summer breeze 
her soft caress is to me, 
charms as a goddess of ancient Greece, 
sweetest of charms, has she. 

And her kisses, pure as the mountainbrook 
and rich as the richest wine, 
and in her eyes the soulful look 
and her great love are mine. 



The Creator 



Bright his eye and firm his hand. 
Chaos whirls. With magic wand 
of his will he breaks all bars, 
out of formless mass shapes stars. 



Meteors and Sun 



A host of wandering meteors stormed thru space, 
they fell into a great sun's troubled face. 
The sun roared fiercely ""What shall that be?" 
The meteors, melting, cried: ''We love but thee!" 



Statue of Liberty, New York 

A Song of the "Dawn of Men's Brotherhood" 

A Statue stands on Bedloes Island 
in New York Bay near Battery Park, 
she holds in raised hand over the island 
a flaming torch as guiding mark. 
GODDESS OF LIBERTY her name is, 
her conquering rays pierce storm and night, 
in our own hearts her light's white flame is, 
for Truth and Liberty to fight. 

A Statue stands on Bedloes Island, 

SYMBOL OF FREEDOM to the world, 

in breezes waving over the island 

OLD GLORY proudly is unfurled— 

they both herald a morning glorious 

when golden-hued, with tidings good, 

from nightmists rises grand, victorious 

THE BRIGHT SUN OF MEN'S BROTHERHOOD. 

William Benignus 



Miss American Liberty 

I love her, and I do my part 

that free we stay, with all my heart. 



<£* dO «^* 

'E Pluribus Unum" 




Gods Country America 

Song of the Free 

By 
WILLIAM BENIGNUS 

* 

Oh tell us the name of the beauitful land 

where the Dawn of Men's glorious Morning is glowing! 

To this dear land we swear and give heart and give hand, 

while from youth unto age our devotion is growing. 

In this home of the brave, in this beautiful land, 

bold Freedom with keen fiery sword has her stand: 

God's Country! We love you, wherever we are, 

we all love your proud flag with each State as a Star. 

Thru our veins swiftly flows a glad feeling of might, 

and high thoughts of great deeds to be done stir our being, 

for the battles with wrong and the powers of night 

must be won for bright Love which all men shall be seeing. 

Let it rise, this bright Light, this new Sun of the Morn, 

in the land of the Free where the Truemen are born. 

God's Country! We love you, ivherever we are, 

we all love your proud flag with each State as a Star. 

In glory you shine. Your true message it rings 

o'er the world with the storm's conquering magic and motion, 

like an eagle it soars when it rises and sings 

and with thundering voice calls from ocean to ocean. 

Oh sweet home of the brave, oh most beautiful land, 

where Freedom with raised fiery torch has her stand, 

God's Country! We love you, wherever we are, 

we aU love your proud, flag with each State as a Star. 



<£ 39 ■£ 



America as I wish it to be 



To meet the often made reproof of 
some of my German acquaintances that 
I printed this poem in 1919 in my "Na- 
ture Melodies of God's Country", I state, 
that it appeared long before the world- 
war in my book of American landscapes 
"Stimmen der Wasser", 184 pages, illus- 
strated, in the year 1908. Here the 
poem is rendered in English. The book 
is on file in the Neiv York Public Li- 
brary, 5. Avenue and U2. Street, and 
there also can be read my "Stories of 
the Cat skills" and my volume "Wir 
iiberm Meer fiir Deutschlands Ehr", 

Let my co-citizens of German ancestry 
mind this: The German- Americans al- 
ways have been and still are a political 
nonentity. New York City alone counts 
at least 32 "Vereine", different organi- 
zations. In all of them Politics are 
forbidden. "Issues of To-day", Nov. 
27, 1920, truly says: "The list of the 32 
associations contains not a single one 
that does not depend for its existence 
upon an appeal to the emotions or the 
senses. Some pursue the commendable 
mission of relieving distress in Germany, 
but most of them are in some form or 
other l'elated to feasting, smoking, sing- 
ing and feeding the senses, lulling the 
conscience against the remembrances of 
the past six years like an insidious 
opiate and unfitting their members to 
cope with the great issues of our time 
that are on the table." During the 
late war the German-Americans — ex- 
cept such as had sold their souls to the 
Wilsonian exploiters — , were insulted, 
spit on, stepped upon, were forced to 
buy Liberty Bonds (oh Liberty Steak, 
Liberty Sausage, Liberty Cabbage, Li- 
berty Bun and Liberty Cheese!), were 
forced to kiss on bended knees the flag, 
even the French flag. And those whose 
name is Legion and whose numbers are 
Legion stoned them, stormed and closed 
their theatres and assembly halls. The 
American citizens of German ancestry 
comprise 26,8 per cent, of the population, 
a percentage greater than that of any 
racial element. 

The America of which I sing in my 



poem is the America of my ideal, the 
America of my dreams, the America as 
I wish it to be, the America as I am 
helping to make it, a real God's Country. 
It is not the America which it was since 
1914, during the worldwar and up to 
date. George Bernard Shaiv, in the 
New York American", Sunday, Dec. 
1920, draws vivid pictures of some of 
its acting personages and of its conse- 
quences. He paints vividly Mr. Wilson. 

I want those who agitate for war to 
read the book of an Englishman, Gibbs ■ 
— Noiv it may be told". If they have 
any conscience and are not born mon- 
sters, they will be against all wars. 
But, alas, this is still a world of attack 
and defense. For a nation to defend 
itself is but natural and can not be 
avoided. Mankind is progressing very 
slowly from beast to divinity. 

I am faithful in love to the land of 
my birth, the old fatherland, Germany 
1 also love my adopted country, the 
United States, where I live since 1882 
and of which I am citizen by own choice 
since 1894. I am of the opinion: If 
patriotism is prejudiced and becomes 
race hate and persecution, and national 
vanity it is detestable and unpardon- 
able It makes no difference to me of 
which religion or race man or woman 
are, as long as they are persons of truth 
courage, conscience and kindness. 

In closing I say: The death knell of 
the British Empire has sounded. 

The French People, swelled with pre- 
sumption and blinded by hate, rest not 
till they go down and disappear in utter 
destruction. The French Black Horror 
m the Rhineland no true German soul 
can ever forget. 

The Wilsonian- and Palmer-minded 
Government of the United States will 
earn what it has sown in the Worldwar 
lhe Law of Divine Love can not be 
sinned against unpunished, the unalter- 
able Moral Law can not be overthrown. 

William Benignus 
New York City, January 1, 1921. 



Our Country is always right in its "essences unchanged by man". Not so our 
Government. Proof: The late War. If our Government is wrong, let us set it right. 
— William Benignus, 

New York City, Dec. 1920. 



<£ 40 <£ 



Hoiho, we sail! 

Sailor's Song. — By William Benignus 



Hoiho! We sail with the rising tide 

o'er the shimmering saltmain's sheen; 

thru mysteries of the deep and height 

our ship sails, right between, 

sails right between the turquoise sky 

and the heaving emerald sea, 

:, : while the waves and the winds, that wander by, 

sing their sad, sweet melody. :, : 

What do they sing and what do they bring? 

They sing of the sailor's love 

that flies like a gull on soaring wing 

much faster than fastest dove. 

Can you hear the sighs of the waves of the main 

and the moans of the winds that weep 

:,: with the sparkling drops of the falling rain, 

that go back to the foaming deep? :,: 

We stop but a little while in port 

the wide and the far world over, 

even in fairest port we can stop but short, 

for our heart is a restless rover. 

With the storms to fight is our valiant part, 

and to conquer them, we like best ; 

:, : we are travelling on with a stout, brave heart 

till we win the last port's rest. :, : 



To my Headers 

The letters given here express the opinions of honest and true thinkers. 

With regard to this book I wish that my readers may feel toward it as warmly 
and as kindly as did Dr. Max Nordau, the eminent author, poet and philosopher, when 
I, a man unknown to him before, sent him my "Worldstream Songs". Follows, in 
translation, an extract from his letter: 

Paris, March 30, 1906. 

8 Rue Leonie 8. 

Mr. William Benignus, 

New York City. 

My dear Sir and Poet: — Yes, your 
"Worldstream Songs" delighted me. 
They delighted me and they edified me, 
now, that I also know your life and 
your daily toils. That makes you a 
phenomenon to which we must take off 
our hat in mute respect. Indeed, you 
are a Sunchild, a Child of the Light, 
genuine clear thru, for only a man bear- 
ing a soul entirely woven of lightrays 
is able in midst of darkest pressures to 
have such bright thoughts and feelings 
as your poems express them. 

In your poems is living and pulsing 
a wonderful flight of fancy, an inspiring 
idealism and a noble enjoyment of world 
and life, qualities which make you a 
remedy for modern neurasthenics. 

Your little book will win for you as 
many admirers and friends as it finds 
readers. My sincere wish is, that there 
be many, very many. I give you a hand- 
shake in spirit, I shake and press your 
hand, so hard from strenuous work, 
and am with sincerest regards and 
respects 

your Dr. Max Nordau 



Parker sburg, W. Va., 

Sept., 26, 1919. 

My dear Sir:— My hearty thanks for 
your book. The more often I read it, 
the more help and courage I get out 
of it. 

Very best regards, 

Katherine L. Weber 



(From the Naturalist and Philosopher 
John Burroughs) 

Riverby, West Park, N. Y., 

May 22, 1919. 

I have read much of your prose, 

"Stories of the Catskills", with interest. 
John Burroughs 



(From an eminent poetess, 
journalist and writer) 

A genuine poet is as rare as a per- 
fect gem, and when one is found, it is 
a treasure worth the having. One of 
these rare beings is William Benignus. 
He is a true child of nature, loving her 
in all her varied moods. His verses 
flow along like the brooks he loves so 
well, smoothly and musically for the 
most part, yet with an occasional bit of 
roughness in rhyme and rhythm that 
redeems them from any tameness or 
monotony. — Kate Woodward Noble, 
Editor of "Waterbury American". 

Waterbury, Conn., May 29, 1919. 



(From the famous Author and Nature 

Writer John C. French, who wrote 

the book "The Passenger Pigeon 

in Pennsylvania") 

Roulette, Pa., July 10, 1919 

Dear Sir:— I enjoyed your "Stories of 
the Catskills" very much, as I was once 
familiar with the Hudson River environ- 
ment and the old Croton Aqueduct. 



Yours truly 



John C. French 



(From a true artist, Mr. C. H. Shearer, 

who painted the great picture 

"The Flight of the Wild Pigeons") 

Dear Mr. Benignus: — Indeed I am very 
thankful to my dear friend Henry W. 
Shoemaker, who I believe has induced 
you to send me some of your good writ- 
ing. We who have studied nature a 
lifetime naturally find few of a kin 
among men; and therefore I am glad to 
know you, if only by that which you 
have kindly sent me. 

Very truly yours 

C. H. Shearer 



(From a savant of language and liter- 
ature, Prof. Dr. Kuno Francke, 
of "Harvard University") 

Gilbertsville, N. Y., 

Nov. 7, 1919. 

Sehr geethrter Herr Benignus! — Neh- 
men Sie herzlichen Dank fur die Zu- 
sendung Ihrer Gedichte. Es ist fur 
mich wohltuend zu wissen, dass es 
Menschen gibt, die in der Pflege der 
inner en Stimme und in dem Ahnen eines 
tieferen Zusammenhangs der Ding* 
Rettung aus der wiisten Gegenwart 
suchen und finden. 

Mit aufrichtigem Dank und besten 
Wiinschen 

Ihr sehr ergebener Kuno Franeke 



(From a Master of Music, 
Walter Damrosch) 

October 20, 1919.— My dear Sir: I 
thank you for your books. I like your 
verses exceedingly, they show real feel- 
ing and music — Very sincerely yours, 

Walter Damrosch 

March 16, 1920.— My dear Mr. Benig- 
nus: I received your songs. The words 
are charming and have a real lyrie 
quality. — Very sincerely yours, 

Walter Damrosch 



(From an accomplished novelist, 
Mrs. Elizabeth Tarlau-Ysaye) 
My dear Mr. Benignus: — Your verses 
are quite unusual ; by far different from 
the work of other poets and full of a 
tender and deep understanding of na- 
ture and nature's marvels. 

Sincerely yours, 

Mrs. J. Tarlau-Ysaye 



ROSSWAAG'tS 
STUYVESANT 
P__R ESS 

25 THIRD AVE. 
NEW YORK CITY 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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